


Balance

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternative Universe - Magitek, Asexual Bucky Barnes, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Demiromantic, Demiromantic Bucky Barnes, Happy Ending, Howard Stark - cameo, Jack Rollins - Freeform, M/M, Margaret Carter - Freeform, Natasha Romanov - cameo, Nick Fury - Freeform, Obadiah Stane - cameo, POV Multiple, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Build, Touching, Trust, Unicorns, Various NPCs - Freeform, Virginity, Wanda Maximoff - Freeform, any sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from technology, maria hill - Freeform, pietro maximoff - Freeform, the hunting of the unicorn, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-25 20:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 62,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12540728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: Bucky had heard of Hydra.Everyonehad heard of Hydra: they were the unicorn hunters down near the border. The last thing Bucky wanted to do was get mixed up with hunters, but he was out of options. Hydra hunted unicorns, hunters needed virgins, and that was about the only thing Bucky had left to sell. If that’s what it took to get his mom and sister out of their dying town he'd do it.Indentured to Hydra, deep in the wilds of the hunting preserve, far from the life he’d known and responsible for luring unicorns to their deaths, Bucky had never been more alone.Until he met the Warden.Wardens enforced the hunting laws, had done ever since the country had nearly torn itself apart over the discovery that unicorns--beloved creatures, conduits to the gods above--could be turned into powerful magical devices.  Under Steve’s eagle eye Hydra didn’t get away with anything and he was a constant presence, watching over the hunts. But Steve didn’t treat Bucky like a hunter. Steve genuinely seemed to care about him. Steve was always there when Bucky needed him and suddenly Bucky wasn’t so alone.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Don't get attached to the unicorns, which is my way of warning: there's animal death in this fic. You'll see it coming, it's not a surprise anywhere it appears, so you should be able to skim over it if you want, and none of it's violent. There's a few additional warning on some chapters. A note about Hydra in this fic: it's not a fascist organisation bent on world domination. The same holds true for the hunter NPCs, whose names (and only names) I've borrowed from characters who were HYDRA agents in comics canon. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who listened to me whine about writing this and encouraged me as it grew longer and longer and slowly ate my life. You're all wonderful.

Never kill a unicorn. It wasn't law because it didn't need to be. You didn't need a law for something everybody knew.

Unicorns were magic. They were the conduit to the gods above. Temple Virgins would draw them forth from forest and field when they were needed, otherwise they were left undisturbed.

So it went for centuries uncounted as the world changed, as magic was tamed and brought under control, as the country grew into something worthy of the name.

As time passed mages joined with artificers to devise ways to use magic for mundane tasks. Life became easier, the country no longer solely dependent on muscle and horse power.

The first Device was created by Howard of the Family Stark, one of the first mage-artificers and brilliant with it. It was a _physical object_ capable of storing magic, capable of allowing ordinary people to draw on magic, to use sigil-marked objects to activate pre-designated spells, as if a mage was right there in the room with them. Every Device still needed a mage to empower it, needed a mage to recharge it, but Devices opened up an entirely new world of possibilities.

At least to those who could afford them. Mages as a rule didn't work cheaply.

It was Howard's son, Anthony, a mage-artificer even more brilliant than his father, who discovered another way.

History would never agree on the truth of what happened. Some scholars argued that he'd found the unicorn freshly dead. Others, that he'd killed it himself. Whichever side they fell on, they all agreed it was Anthony who discovered that unicorns were literally made of magic.

Anthony Stark was many things. An inventor, a genius. A mage-artificer the likes of which the country had never seen. But one thing he was not was devout. While he paid lip-service to the gods above, those few he allowed close to him doubted he truly believed. When he found the unicorn—and it was freshly dead; devout or not, even he wouldn't kill a unicorn—it seemed logical to take the creature, brimming with magic, and see what he could make of it.

What he made were Devices more simply and more powerful than any he'd ever seen. The smallest sliver of the unicorn's horn, a palmful of the unicorn's blood, and he had a Device beyond anything even his power could create.

He stopped after the twelfth Device. With a wave of his hand he incinerated the unicorn's corpse, he incinerated the Devices, near-invisible flame flaring high, until nothing but powdery ash remained. He was a genius. He knew what would happen if it became common knowledge, because faith was faith, and the gods were the gods, but measured against what he'd just discovered they suddenly felt very small.

Anthony _was_ a genius and he was right about the smallness of faith. He simply hadn't realised it was more than faith in the gods above that would be betrayed.

There was one person Anthony didn't protect his secret from. One person he didn't take every precaution against. And why would he? Obadiah was a dear friend, trustworthy and true, a second father to Anthony when his own died.

Obadiah found out what Anthony had discovered. Measured against holding faith with his friend, with his family-in-all-but-blood, the potential for money and power easily won out. 

He stole Anthony's secret and went to create his own Devices.

Never kill a unicorn. They were conduits to the gods above. But it wasn't against the law, and to Obadiah and the men and women he found that was all that mattered. They'd be able to make Devices more powerful, more simply, than anything else that existed. They could make their fortunes. What were the lives of _animals_ compared to that?

Word spread. More people came to join Obadiah: mages, artificers, common folk and hunters. They all wanted in on the beginning of what promised to be a lucrative venture.

Finding virgins wasn't easy, but they managed, even if the virgins weren't always willing.

Still others came, but they didn't come to join. They were devout men and women and they came to stop the killing. They came to save the unicorns, and they were prepared—some were downright eager, seeking vengeance for the unicorns who'd already died—to kill anyone they needed to.

It spread across the country like a slow burn.

Anthony, pricked by conscience and helplessness at what he'd unwittingly unleashed, went to Prelate Margaret Carter, the head of the Temple, and laid everything at her feet. Prelate Carter went to the Queen. They sent the Royal Guard and the Temple Wardens to stop the killing of human and unicorn alike, but there were brief, bloody skirmishes before things were brought under control.

Together Prelate and Queen hammered out a way forward. What had been found could not be unfound, but the violence had to end before the country blazed into civil war. New laws were created. The Crown, to whom every wild creature belonged, ceded ownership of unicorns to the Temple and passed a law: the punishment for killing a unicorn was death.

But Anthony's discovery couldn't be undone. It couldn’t be taken back—and as beloved as unicorns were of the gods above, as firmly embedded as unicorns were in their worship, even Prelate Carter could see how much better her people would be if Devices were readily available to all, and she served her people first. In exchange for the protection granted to unicorns everywhere else, Temple and Crown created hunting preserves: parcels of land deep in the wild where unicorns could be killed.

Making it work wouldn't be easy. Emotions were high on both sides, but the Queen was beloved and Prelate Carter had long ago mastered the Temple and all who served within it. There were none who would defy her. They found an unexpected ally in Anthony, who had, while they were crafting new laws, designed half a dozen new Devices: ones to give light and heat to houses, ones to cook food without the use of a fire, ones to keep a box cold to prevent food from spoiling, small ones and large ones and ones in between. Each and every one designed to make life easier for the most ordinary of people and every one so far beyond the Device Obadiah was peddling they were barely recognisable as the same thing.

It was vengeance and penance all at once, Prelate Carter realised as he offered them to her, and she rested her hand on his head in forgiveness and benediction. With this last piece, unstinting generosity from a man she was certain didn't even believe in the gods above, it would be possible.

And, her own internal cynic noted, everyone knew unicorns moved at the will of the gods. If that happened to carry them into the preserves, well, who were they to question the gods' will?


	2. One hundred years later

"Tell me, Captain Rogers. How do you feel about unicorns?" Commander Fury steepled his fingers as he watched Steve from his one good eye.

Steve's brain stuttered in confusion. There were a lot of thing he'd expected Commander Fury to say, most of them profanity-laden. Questioning his attitude towards unicorns hadn't made the list. He took a minute to get his thoughts in order, marshalling them to deal with whatever this was. "I don't think I've got any particularly strong feelings about unicorns," he said cautiously, looking for the trap, keeping his gaze on the wall several inches above Fury's head.

Silence greeted his response. Steve didn't give in to the temptation to fill it, stayed neatly at parade rest, and waited. Eventually Fury slid something across his desk. He tapped it hard when Steve's gaze still didn't move and Steve responded to the unspoken command, looking down to see a plain cream folder, worn at the edges.  

"Glad to hear it. Means you'll be a good fit for the job." Fury pushed the folder closer. "Take a look."

He did as he was told, opening the folder, flipping through its contents. His heart fell into his stomach as he realised exactly what he was looking at. Discharge papers. And under them a letter of introduction from Commander Fury to... He glanced up in disbelief. "You want me to become a Unicorn Warden?"

"Not just any Unicorn Warden. A Unicorn Warden in a preserve as far away as I can get you, right up near the Pindar border."

Steve's jaw worked around all the things he knew he couldn’t say. "What if I say no?"

"What if I say prison? It was one of the possibilities getting tossed around."

A muscle in Steve's jaw ticked. "Unicorn Warden."

"Don't say it like that, like it's shit on your boot. It's an honourable position."

"Is it?" he asked dubiously.

"My family's got a history with the Wardens, my grandfather was one of the best, and I had to call in a lot of favours to make this happen for you after what you pulled, so think really carefully about the next thing out of your mouth," Fury said mildly but his eye was flashing a warning.

Steve's shoulders slumped. "Sorry, I didn't mean..." He wasn't sure how to finish that, so he said, "Sorry," again. Fury nodded. Steve scanned the letter, or tried to. His eyes kept slipping back to the papers that would end his five years in the Guard.

This was not where his life was supposed to go. It must have shown on his face.

"Captain Rogers." Fury sighed and ran a hand across his bald head. "Steve. This is out of my hands. You're out of Shield Corps, you're out of the Guard. It's this, or I'm not sure I'll be able to keep them from charging you. I know why you did it. I can't say I disagree, but at the end of the day you disobeyed direct orders, you dropped us into a diplomatic incident with Aramac, and there's no coming back from that."

"It saved lives."

"I know."

"It was the right thing to do."

"And I'm not saying I disagree with that either." Fury's single eye was piercing, leaving Steve no room to hide. "Are you telling me you didn't know what it might cost you?"

Steve lifted his chin. "I knew." Fury spread his hands, asking _Well then?_ "All right. I'll do it." His expression hardened. "But I want something in return."

"I don't think you're in a position to be making demands."

"Not for me. For everyone who followed me. I outranked every one of them and I want it on the record, I want it on _their_ records, that they were following my orders, that _I_ disobeyed direct orders, but they didn't. Give me that, promise me that, and I'll sign. I'll go quietly. Otherwise I'm dragging everyone through whatever comes next and that might get diplomatic, too."

Fury's studied him, as if weighing up Steve's willingness to go through with his threat, but Fury had known him a long time. He knew Steve didn't bluff. Eventually he nodded. "That I can make happen."

"Then show me where to sign."

There was sympathy lurking in Fury's eye as Steve signed the papers. It was a surprisingly simple process to bring an end to his life. Sign here and here. Initial there. Initial once more and it was done.

He said goodbye to Fury, saluted him one last time, _saluted_ one last time, and left.

Before he'd disobeyed direct orders he would have had goodbyes to make. Not heartfelt goodbyes, but goodbyes none the less. Now the only people who might care he was leaving were back on the Aramac border, and he'd done what he could for them. They wouldn't pay the price for what Steve had led them into.

 _Led them into._ He snorted as he packed up his gear. _Like I could have stopped them._ He took one last look around, bowed his head briefly, and left.

 

* * *

 

The Unicorn Wardens' headquarters were far out on the edge of the city, a long way from the bustling heart of the capital. He stood outside the gates of the Guards' headquarters, briefly considered walking anyway, then sighed and took a tram.

The trams were solid metal with ornate panelled windows, trundling along rails set in the middle of the roads that bisected the capital. Each tram was big enough to hold a dozen people, with the driver tucked into a cramped compartment up front, half the space taken up by the giant Device that powered them.

The road was crowded with vehicles: goods-wagons, most Device-powered, but even here in the capital there were still a few pulled by horses, huge, heavy, hairy beasts hauling loads down side-streets. There were light carriages, utilities—utes, people had started calling them—tough, practical vehicles with a box-tray at the back, bikes that zipped in front of the tram with no apparent regard for life or limb, all emitting the pale blue glow of the Devices that powered them.

As he idly stared out the window, he couldn't stop seeing unicorns. They were _everywhere_. Intellectually he knew they hadn't suddenly appeared, like the gods above had sent them bursting forth in a moment of divine artistry. They'd always been there, he'd just never noticed. _But then no one ever sent me to be a Unicorn Warden before, so..._ They were painted on signs and carved into the base of columns, they galloped over building fronts and pranced across shop windows. The tram passed a Temple and his eyes caught on a statue: a rearing unicorn, narrow head held high, spiralling horn gleaming in the sun, long tail with its narrow tuft of hair lashing the air, as if it was deeply displeased by everything it saw.

Possibly he was projecting.

The tram braked sharply, sending his bag tumbling to the floor, distracting him from his thoughts, and when he looked out the window they'd left the disapproving unicorn behind.

He stayed on the tram to the end of the rails, then shouldered his bags and walked the rest of the way.

Another unicorn statue greeted him inside the gate to the Unicorn Wardens' headquarters. This one wasn't disapproving. It was old, and it wasn't well-kept, the bronze discoloured with age and neglect, but its head was held high, its expression was proud. Maybe a little challenging. Steve didn't count himself any sort of expert on unicorn body language, but he suddenly felt a kind of kinship with it.

He rubbed its nose, sun-warmed and smooth, and muttered, "Wish me luck."

At the end of the drive was what appeared to be a noble's manor, a great solid block of a building, like the unicorn not well-kept and showing its age, surrounded by old trees and the remnants of once-great gardens.

The front doors were huge, solid wood, nearly half-again as tall as Steve, twice as wide and thicker than his forearm, with a chain of unicorns galloping around the edge. They looked strong enough to withstand a siege, but were propped open with an old, broken chair, letting the breeze swirl in.

Steve followed the breeze.

Inside, it was cool and dark and he stopped. This didn't look like the headquarters of anything. It looked like a grand family's receiving hall and he had no idea what the protocol was. Should he call out? Maybe sit down on the bottom of the marble staircase and wait?

Before he could do more than put his bags down, the sound of boots on marble drew his eyes to the top of stairs. A woman was walking down them. She was dressed practically, in tough brown leather, a long knife at one hip, a pistol on the other, its tiny Device glowing bright blue, her long hair pulled up tight at the back of her head. Her eyes were sharp. Assessing. He found himself automatically standing at attention.

"Steve Rogers." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, ma'am." His fingers twitched with the urge to salute. He was a civilian and so was she, but old habits died hard and she reminded him strongly of Commander Fury.

"Nick said you wouldn't take long to get here." _Nick._ Steve didn't boggle, but it was a near thing. Theoretically he'd known it was Commander Fury's name, but he'd never expected to hear anyone actually use it. "I'm Warden Hill. You can call me Warden Hill, or Hill, or Maria, whatever you're comfortable with. We don't get many joining us out of the Guard, so go with whatever makes you happy."

"You don't?"

"No, and we also don't take people on sight unseen, especially not someone like you, but I trust Nick."

"What do you mean, someone like me?" He was bristling, he could feel it.

"Shield Corps. I know the sort of training they give you, I know you're the finest the Guard has to offer, but every one of them I've ever met... Let's just say I'd rather have half a dozen raw recruits. At least they don't think they're a gift to the world from the gods above."

"Oh. That." Steve couldn't even argue with her. He'd been excited to be selected for Shield Corps; it hadn't lasted long. They were supposed to be the elite, the best. And they were...when it came to fighting. When it came to anything else they were the biggest pack of assholes Steve had ever met.

"Yes, that." She raised an eyebrow at him. "If you thought I meant what landed you here in the first place," she snorted, "no, your...initiative is the other reason I agreed to take you on. Wardens don't follow orders, there's no one to tell us what to do. We have to make the call. Do you think you can work with that?"

It was completely foreign to the life he'd been living. The Guard was about following orders, about doing what you were told, no matter what you thought. Hill's words touched off an exhilaration he could barely keep off his face. He stood a little straighter. "Yes. Yes, I can work with that."

Some of what he was feeling must have leaked through, because Hill's eyes gleamed briefly. "There's something else you need to know." She propped one foot on the bottom step, her boot clacking lightly against the marble, and leaned on the ornately carved bannister. "We don't take unwilling people. We don't take Indentures. Nick sent you to me but that doesn't mean I have to take you, not if you don't want this. No one's ever going to know what happened to you. You can stay here for a few days then just," she lifted her fist and opened her hand, "go."

"I told Commander Fury I'd do this. I gave him my word."

"Commander Fury," something that could have been a smirk briefly flared into existence, "doesn't run the Wardens. I do. And I say it's up to you."

Steve didn't know what to say.

"Do you know why he sent you here? No, better question. Do you know how he convinced the higher-ups to let him send you here? Why they agreed?"

She was watching him intently, too intently for this to be a simple question. _Why could he send me here? I'm pretty sure they wanted my head, so why would they agree to this?_ He looked around the foyer. It had been great once. The high ceiling had fading murals, the once bright paint becoming indistinguishable blobs, and a broken chandelier chain dangled from their centre. The wallpaper was worn, the carpet faded. There was dust in the carved bannister under Hill's shoulder. The marble staircase was cracked and chipped.

Everywhere Steve looked he could see the faded remnants of glory, nothing left of it now but a distant memory. He knew what some people said about the Wardens, the same thing they said about hunters, nasty, petty gossip he avoided when he heard it. "Humiliation." He knew he was right. "I _embarrassed_ them, and this is my punishment." He met her eyes. "Going from Shield Corps, the elite, the best of the Guard, to here. I'm supposed to be humiliated."

She smiled, pleased with a hint of surprise. "Good. Very good. Are you?"

"I don't think so."

"That's somewhere to start. How about we go to my office, I'll tell you about the Wardens, and you can make up your mind what you want to do."

"Sounds good."

"Come on, then." She turned on her heel and led the way up the stairs, and he picked up his bags and followed. When they reached her office, which looked more like a repurposed sitting room, with a fireplace big enough to roast an entire cow, she waved him to a seat across from her desk. "Sit, I'll be back.

Steve dropped his bags in the corner next to the door and did as he was told, studying the room. It had the same feel as the foyer had, faded glory with a richness to it: there were paintings on the wall, high ceilings, and the desk was huge and, he rapped it with his knuckles, solid wood. He wasn't trying to look, but he could see a copy of the letter Fury had shown him sitting on top of a pile of Hill's papers.

He averted his eyes, not wanting to snoop on anything else, and busied himself reading the titles on her bookshelf.

When Hill came back she was carrying a tray with a pot of tea, two mugs, and, unexpectedly, a plate of cookies.

"Have a cookie, grab a tea," she said as she sat down. Again, he did as he was told, waving the pot at her in question, pouring one for her when she nodded, and grabbed a cookie. She looked at him sharply when he didn't eat it, so he took a bite. Then stared at it. Then took another bite. The smallest smile passed across her face. "I'll give you the recipe. They're one of the only things you can reliably bake in a Warden's van."

"Uh, thanks?" She nodded. When he was finished his cookie, and had apparently drunk enough tea to satisfy her, she leaned forward and started talking.

Steve already knew some of it: the history of the preserves, why they'd been created, how a hundred years ago Anthony Stark and Obadiah Stane had nearly brought the country to civil war—although the version Hill was telling him was very different from what he'd learned in school—how the Prelate and the Queen had brought the unicorns under the law, created the preserves and a permissible system of hunting, blessed by the gods above and enforced by the newly created Unicorn Wardens.

"The first Wardens were drawn from the Queen's Guard and the Prelate's Wardens. They were the only ones they could trust to stop people from interfering with the hunters, regardless of how they personally felt about hunting unicorns. Time passed, more and more people got Devices in their homes, their lives got easier." Hill's smile was cynical. "Suddenly Wardens were respected. People wanted to join up. But that was a long time ago. Now we mostly get lumped in with the hunters, and they've never been popular, but we do our job whether people like us or not."

"Do you really think people care that much anymore?" Hill gave him a look, requesting clarification, and he added, "About hunting unicorns."

"About the only thing I'm sure of is that people can surprise you. In my time I've had to chase people out of preserves, I've had to protect hunts at the point of a pistol. _They_ cared enough and, like I said, hunters aren't popular. People are happy enough using their Devices, but they still don't like hunters." She shrugged. "Never underestimate what people are capable of. What we do is important. And some hunters, if we weren't there? They wouldn't be following the rules."

Steve sat back in his chair. His second cup of tea was cold leafy dregs, his mind was whirring, stuffed full of information. Implications. Hill wasn't watching him, and he had the sense of patient companionship. She was giving him time to digest what she'd told him.

Did he want to be a Warden? What were the other options? He believed her when she said he could just go. But go where? Do what? If he did this he'd at least be doing something that would make a difference. And he'd given Fury his word. "I want in."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I am."

"Okay, then." Hill reached into a drawer, pulled out an object, and set it on her desk. What it was didn't quite register at first. It was short, spiralling, only about an inch long, and pointed at one end. Its faded cream colour was partially obscured by the delicate filigree of silver wires wrapped around it.

"That's a unicorn horn."

"Part of one, yes."

He swallowed hard, because it was one thing to travel in vehicles and fire mage-bolts from Device-powered pistols that he knew, in the abstract, were created and fuelled by magic gleaned from parts of dead unicorns. It was another to see an actual piece of a unicorn's horn, heavy and solid and real, staring up at him.

He hadn't lied to Fury; he didn't have any particularly strong feelings about unicorns, but the memory of being Presented as a child suddenly rose up in front of him. The sounds and the sights and the smells, the softness of his unicorn's coat and the brightness of her eyes, the gentle huff of her breath. She'd been beautiful, they'd all been beautiful, gold and cream and silver, shimmering under the sun. The constant murmur of the priests had wound around him as he'd spoken his name to his unicorn so the gods above would know him.

Steve swallowed hard. He _wasn't_ devout; he wasn't a non-believer, but he wasn't devout, yet still the piece of horn made his skin prickle.

"You okay?"

He nodded, then shook his head, then said, "I don't know."

"It hits everyone like that the first time," she said kindly. "It doesn't matter that just about every Device you see, and all the ones you use without thinking about, is fuelled by a dead unicorn—all that happens somewhere far away where you can't see it. This is the first time you've ever really had to face the reality."

Steve nodded again and took a deep breath. He was settling, because she was right. "I'm fine."

"You sure? It's okay not to be."

He gave her a sharp look. "Was this a test?"

She waggled her hand. "Part test, part safe place to react badly if you were going to. Some people do."

"I'm not."

"I can see that." Hill picked the horn up and held it out. "Now you need to hold it."

Steve didn't know if it was his imagination, but it felt warm under the wire filigree and it glowed slightly when he closed his fingers around it.  "What now?"

"Now it's simple. Repeat after me." She recited the oath of office, simple and straightforward, and as Steve repeated it he knew it wasn't his imagination: the horn was glowing brighter as he spoke and it faded when he was done.

"Welcome, Warden Rogers." She plucked the horn from his hand. "Nick wants you out of the city as fast as possible, so we're going to get you on a train to Louth tomorrow. Until then, I'm handing you over to Warden Romanov. She's going to bring you up to speed on what you need to know, get you set up with the right gear. We've accumulated a lot of stuff over the years, you're welcome to take whatever you want and leave anything of yours you don't. I'd also recommend raiding the library. You're going to want something to read. As far out as you're going? You're going to want a lot to read. Trust me."

He did. Not only about the reading. He thanked her and went to meet Warden Romanov, but everything after her flat, bland, 'Warden Rogers,' and his 'Uh, Steve is fine,' was a blur. Warden Romanov was terrifying and terrifyingly knowledgeable and terrifyingly competent and terrifyingly intent on shoving as much into his brain as she could.

She didn't get less terrifying when she turned into _Natasha._ By the time midnight rolled around, with Steve stumbling from exhaustion but determined to keep going, she softened, even seemed a little fond of him—the way people were fond of three legged dogs, Steve couldn’t help thinking—but she told him to call her Natasha. That had felt like being given a gift from the gods above and she'd laughed at Steve's beaming, half-dopey smile (in his defence, he'd been beyond exhausted, his mind stuffed so full he was afraid it might explode) and sent him to bed, only to drag him out of it before dawn.

When he found himself sitting on the train, staring through the window as the station slowly disappeared from view, he had only the vaguest memory of how he'd gotten there. Natasha was standing on the platform, blank-faced, not waving, not smiling, but he lifted a hand and he thought, just maybe, he might have gotten a twitch of a smile in response.

Maybe not.

There was nothing to do for the next five days but sit on the train. The obvious thing to do was close his eyes and sleep, which he did. His mind must have been working while he was sleeping, because every time he woke up, he felt like more and more of what he'd learned had taken up residence somewhere he could actually find it again.

 

* * *

 

When he finally climbed off the train in Louth he was half way to stir-crazy. He was walking around on the hard-packed dirt road in front of the train station, his bags sitting on the wooden sidewalk, stretching his legs and waving his arms, when it hit him that he had no idea how he was supposed to get to the Warden's, to _his_ , camp.

"Warden Rogers?"

He was surprised verging on shocked when he turned to find a man dressed in the long, deep green robes of a Deacon striding down the sidewalk towards him. "That's me."

"I'm Deacon Wilson. But honestly, we're not that formal out here, most people call me Sam unless they have a need for me to be particularly reverential. The gods don't seem to mind."

Steve didn't boggle. Barely. "Steve."

He could see the Deacon... Sa—no, there was no way he could call a Deacon, a _servant of the gods above_ by his first name, he just couldn't. You didn't... trying not to laugh at him. "I should call you Steve?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Then you should call me Sam."

Steve clamped his mouth shut.

"Go on, try it. I promise it's okay." Steve gave him a helpless look and Sam's face softened into a gentle smile. "Well, all right. If you can't, you can't. That's fine, too. Deacon works, until you can manage Sam. Now, I'm here because Maria sent me a message that you'd be coming in on this train, and you'd need someone to meet you and get you up to your camp."

Steve almost boggled again, and once more had the dubious experience of seeing a Deacon trying not to laugh at him. "She— It's, I'm sure I would have managed okay."

"It's no problem. You might even say it's my job, helping people that need it."

"Isn't that supposed to more in the comforting people and less in the meeting people at trains and driving people places sense?"

"What sort of Deacons have you been spending time with?" Sam reached down and grabbed one of Steve's bags, tossing it over his shoulder, and Steve could see bulging muscle in his arm. "I prefer a more practical approach. Patting someone on the back and saying the gods still love you doesn't do much if what they really need is a ditch dug." Steve picked up the rest of his bags, quickly, before the Deacon could take any more. "However true it is, because it is true, the gods are always with us, but they put all of us here _together_ for a reason, and that's what they expect of us. To help each other." He stopped walking and shook his head. "Sorry, Steve. I tend to drop into homily mode way too easily these days."

"No, no, it's fine. I mean, I agree. And thank you for your help, and for meeting me." He took a deep breath because, no, you didn't call a Deacon by their name, it was rude, but if someone asked you to call them something, weren't you being even ruder by not doing it? "Sam."

Sam broke into a beaming smile. "There you go, I'm proud of you." 

He followed Sam to his ute and they tossed Steve's bags in the back. The preserve was a fair distance from Louth and Sam filled him in on the town on the drive up. And it was up, the single road winding into the hills, travelling across a stone bridge that looked like it had stood forever, a wide river rushing past below.

Once inside the preserve the road fractured into a spider's web, but Sam seemed to know where to go and soon they were pulling into the Warden's camp. He helped Steve unload, clapped him on the back and told him to find him if he needed anything, then left him to it.

Hill had referred to a Warden's van, and there was one of those—a tough, rugged sleeping-van, with a bed, a table, a tiny kitchen and storage space, all neatly packed in, the kind people used when they needed a home they could move—but it had been built onto over the years. Now it was more of a cabin, the van providing a backbone for the cozy living space that had grown around it. Its over-sized Device was mounted in the corner, strapped to the ceiling, powering the light and the hot water and the cold-box, which was freshly stocked with food (and he suspected Sam's hand was at work in that), and the oven, and he immediately thought of Hill's recipe, scrawled on a scrap of paper and tucked at the bottom of his pack.

There was a bike in a lean-to outside, slim and light, barely anything to it, and it too had an over-sized Device, fixed to the top of the frame between the handlebars and the long seat. Steve started it up and took it for a quick spin around the camp; it was quiet and responsive, obviously well maintained over the years.

The sun had set by the time he unpacked his gear, his weapons, got everything settled, and he stood under the night sky, staring at the blanket of endless stars, breathing in air that was clean and crisp, knowing the only decisions he had to answer to were the ones he made himself.

Something inside of him...let go.

He could never have predicted ending up here, but he was having trouble finding anything like regret. There was an unfamiliar feeling settling inside of him, not unwelcome, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

The next day he took himself over to the hunters' camp, figuring he should introduce himself. It was run by Hydra—Natasha had given him a run down on Hydra; they were big, owned permits for multiple preserves, had fingers in all sorts of non-hunting pies. Brock Rumlow, the man in charge, invited him for a walk then tried to bribe him to look the other way while they lured unicorns into the preserve. He was subtle about it; if pushed, he'd be able deny that was what he'd meant, but he laid it out there and waited to see what happened.

Steve thought about it—not about taking the bribe, that was never going to happen, but about how to respond. He could try having Rumlow tossed in prison. Or he could use this to set out how things were going to go from here on out.

He felt like it was a test.

He opted for the latter, told Rumlow this was his one warning. He was polite, he was firm, but he laid down the law.

They settled into a tense association after that, but it got a little less tense once Rumlow figured out Steve wasn't going to make Hydra's life difficult just because he could. Steve had kind of preferred the tension, because it had kept Rumlow from being an asshole, but he was easy enough to ignore.

Louth turned out to be a decent town, bigger and busier than it had seemed at first glance. Its train station was the meeting point for three different lines: the one that ran along the border, the one that ran inland to the capital, and the one that crossed the border into Pindar. The Messenger's Guild had an office, the border guard wasn't far away, and it seemed like there was a pub on every corner, all of them with rooms to rent. Steve was particularly pleased to find that the woman who ran the general store had a corner devoted to second hand books. Hill hadn't been kidding when she'd said he was going to want a lot to read.

The people were...fine, he eventually decided. They were polite enough, but it was clear that, to them, there wasn't much difference between him and the hunters. No one was hostile, no one was rude, but at the same time no one went out of their way to be friendly.

Except Sam. Sam always seemed pleased to see him, but he was a busy man, his services in high demand, and it soon became apparent that every single person in Louth adored him. Steve gathered more than few a looks ranging from suspicious to warning to downright hostile the first time Sam joined him for a drink. Sam laughed when Steve, more amused than anything else, pointed it out. "Yeah, they can get a bit overprotective. I'll have a word with them, don't worry about it."

As the months passed, as he spent more time under the open sky, answering to no one but himself, meeting his duties as he saw fit, Steve figured out what the unfamiliar feeling was: it was peace.


	3. Chapter 3

When Bucky was seventeen his father died.

His parents had moved to Kyden the year Bucky was born. It hadn't been easy, uprooting their lives with a new baby in tow, but his father had been a skilled artificer. The Kyden Device workshop had offered him a great deal to entice them to move.

Seventeen years later the same workshop killed him.

It could have been worse. Bucky's mother, his sister, they were safe. They were alive. But his father was dead, wiped out in the blink of an eye when an artificer-mage's magic exploded out of control, setting off a chain reaction in the half-built Devices. A corner of the workshop ceased to exist.

The workshop owners were very sorry. They paid for the funeral. They offered Bucky a job. As unskilled labour, of course, because he didn't have his father's skill, his experience, his talent. It was nothing like what his father had been getting paid, but he took it. Becca was only six, she needed their mother, they needed money, and there weren't a lot of options in Kyden; the workshop _was_ the town. Even at unskilled labour wages, it was better than anything else he could get.

No one noticed that he'd completely pulled away from the people he used to know, that he was careful not to touch people or let himself be touched or, if they noticed, they blamed it on what had happened. Bucky did nothing to disabuse them of the notion.

Bucky was smart and he worked hard. Eventually it led to better pay. When Becca got older his mother joined him, working part time at the workshop. Their life got easier. There was talk about apprenticing Bucky to an artificer, even though by then he was well past the usual age for it, when the workshop shut down. There was no warning. One day everything was normal, the next they arrived for work and it was dark and mage-locked.

Eventually word circulated that the owners had been doing dirty deals and embezzling money, but the _why_ didn't matter much. The workshop _was_ the town. Bucky was twenty-two, Becca was eleven, and Kyden was going to die.

He looked for work somewhere else, picked up a few odd jobs here and there, but he was competing against the entire town. He kept looking as their tiny savings dwindled away, as his mother grew more and more worried, but there was _nothing._

The answer came like a gift from the gods above, and considering the circumstances Bucky was well aware of the irony.

He was having a drink in the pub—just one, and it was an investment; he'd found a couple of two-day jobs talking to people in the pub—ears open for anything that might lead to work. A group in the corner were talking—laughing, really, with a mean, hard edge—about the misfortune that had befallen Hydra.

He'd heard of Hydra. _Everyone_ had heard of Hydra. They had interests everywhere, had even tried to buy into the workshop last year and been sent off with their tail between their legs, but they also ran the hunters up in Louth, the ones who'd supplied the workshop.

Bucky had never dealt with that part of it. He'd built the Device frames, the solid metal that provided the anchor point for the magic that powered the Devices. It was easy not to think about where that magic came from. Not to think about what fuelled the Device in their house. Not to think about hunters like Hydra and what they brought in.

Except, according to the snickering men and women in the corner, Hydra wasn't bringing anything in.

Because apparently they'd lost their virgin.

"Serves them right," one of them proclaimed, the rest muttering their agreement. 

Maybe before the workshop had shut down they'd have been singing a different tune, but now they were talking about the hunters like they deserved whatever they got. Like they'd brought it on themselves for hunting unicorns.

Bucky was torn. The Temple sanctioned hunting unicorns. He knew without hunters there'd be no Devices, at least not ones ordinary people could afford. He also knew there were some people who were so devout they refused to use Devices, who hired mages or did without, but that wasn't him. There was just something about it, about hunting unicorns, that felt _wrong_.

Right now, that feeling didn't matter. What mattered was that you couldn't hunt unicorns without a virgin. Everyone knew that. And Hydra didn't have one.

The idea sunk claws into him and wouldn't let go.

The claws dug deeper and deeper as the days ticked past. As they emptied the last of their savings to pay the rent. As he and his mother looked for work they knew wasn't there, as they sold the few things they owned that were worth anything to get them a little bit further.

He woke up the next day and there was only one thing he had left to sell. Himself. If he could get enough money, his mother could take Becca and get out of Kyden, move somewhere there were jobs and hope _._

Bucky scraped together enough for a train ticket to Louth and asked around. As best as anyone could tell him Hydra still hadn't found a virgin, and the woman at the train station pointed him in the right direction. His hands were shaking as he approached a group of rough looking men sitting at a table outside the pub. They didn't seem drunk, which he figured had to be a good sign.

Shoving his hands in his pockets so no one could see them shake, he took a deep breath, lifted his chin, put on his best swagger, and walked right up to them. The biggest one gave him a disinterested look, but the eyes of the other two swept over his body, lingering, and inside he shuddered. Outside, he ignored them and locked eyes with the big guy. "I heard you're looking for a virgin."

The big guy slowly smiled.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had gotten lucky. The big guy was Brock Rumlow, in charge of the Louth preserve and in desperate need of a virgin.

Every unicorn hunter needed a virgin, but virgins, as it turned out, were hard to find and harder to keep, both in the _keep employed_ and _keep a virgin_ sense.

Bucky knew being a virgin wasn't normal at his age. The few people who knew had assumed he was angling for the Temple. Bucky let them keep thinking it. It was simpler, easier, than the truth: he'd never had the urge, found the whole idea disturbing. When people looked at him like those two guys at Brock's table, when they touched him with intent, it made him feel sick, greasy, made his skin crawl. He mostly tried not to think about it, made sure he didn't touch people, made sure they didn't touch him, made sure they wouldn't think he _wanted_ them to touch him, so they wouldn't think he was leading them on. He knew it wasn't normal, but here and now, for the first time in his life, whatever was wrong with him was actually going to get him something he wanted.

Brock tested him. Bucky was shit scared when Brock said he was going to make sure Bucky actually was a virgin, because he couldn't imagine how he was going to do that. He was so relieved he almost fell over when Brock left and came back with a unicorn horn—though seeing it, seeing a unicorn horn like that, made him feel more than a little queasy—carved with tiny runes and wrapped in gold filigree, and ran it over Bucky's body. When the runes began to glow, blindingly bright, Brock cracked a smile. "Looks like you are a virgin."

The other two, who weren't hunters, had left, so it was just him and Brock. "I want to make a deal," Bucky said quickly, before he lost his nerve.

Brock didn't look impressed. "Hydra's got a standard contract."

"That's not going to work for me."

"What have you got in mind?"

"I need a lump sum and I need it now."

"That's not how it works, Barnes."

"And how many other virgins are lining up to work for you? Are you telling me we can't cut a deal?"

Brock tossed the unicorn horn up in the air and caught it, eyeing Bucky. "All right. I'll give you a lump sum now. But I want something serious in return. A year indentured. Legally Hydra will own your ass. Is whatever you want the money for worth that much to you?"

Inside, Bucky quailed, but he should have been expecting it, asking for a lump sum up front. Almost no one indentured anymore; only the truly desperate would ever agree. Indentures had almost no rights. He wouldn't be able to leave, no getting out of it early; if he tried, the Guard would drag him back. They really would own his ass.

Bucky chewed his bottom lip, then named a price, way more than his mother and Becca would need to get out of Kyden and set up somewhere else. Brock countered with a lower amount. "Split the difference?" Bucky suggested, because it was still more than he'd thought he'd get, still more than enough.

"Deal." They shook on it.

It didn't take the local Justice long to draw up the papers, even if she looked askance at Bucky, like she wanted to ask: _Are you sure about this_?  Bucky was glad she didn't. When she marked the documents with a Device-powered seal, Bucky nicked his thumb and pressed a drop of blood over the silvery rune—one that would let Hydra track him if he tried to run—and his hand only shook a little.

Brock handed him the money, more than he'd ever seen at one time in his life, and let him go home when he swore to be back on the next train.

He didn't lie to his mother. He just left out some details. Like a year's indentured service. Like exactly what he'd been hired to do. Hydra had stakes in a lot of different operations, a lot of different businesses, all over the country; working for them, Bucky could theoretically be doing almost anything. Unicorn hunting was nothing she was going to be proud to see her son doing and he could imagine her reaction to his indenture.

She'd always been practical, but Bucky couldn't risk her refusing the money.

He handed it over—and she was crying, with joy, with surprise, overwhelmed, amazed—hugged her hard, hugged Becca, quickly packed up what he thought he'd need, told them he loved them, and left before she had time to get past her initial shock and start asking hard questions.

 

* * *

 

Brock was waiting at the station when he got off the train and they rode up to the camp in silence. Bucky was nervous, clutching the strap of his bag between his hands, and Brock didn't seem to care if he didn't talk. The ute was old and the road was bumpy, the rolled-down window letting in dust and the smell of the preserve: damp and green and clean, underneath it all something sharp he couldn't identify. The trees were tall, their branches crooked and spreading wide, their smooth bark ranging from white to a dark, mottled grey, some of it peeling off in sheets.

As they turned off the main road to follow a narrower path, a flock of colourful birds exploded into the sky with a cacophony of disapproving cries. In the distance he could see red trunks and the shimmer of water and he leaned out the window to try and get a closer look but it disappeared behind thick scrub and then they were pulling into camp.

It was big, much bigger than Bucky had been expecting, and much more _permanent_. And clean and neat. His imagination had been painting pictures of filth and tents, maybe piles of garbage, but this was as tidy as anything he'd ever seen. There weren't many buildings: two big sheds, well off to the side, a small building near some elevated water tanks, and a larger building at the other end of the camp from the two sheds. There were a dozen or so vans of varying sizes, and a fire pit had been dug in the centre of camp, surrounded by tables with benches that looked like they'd been there for years.

Brock parked the ute next to a collection of vehicles—mostly other utes and bikes. "This is it. Out you get."

Bucky grabbed the bag between his feet and put it over his shoulder, then climbed out and pulled the other one out of the back of the ute.

"First things first." Brock pointed at the sheds. "Processing sheds. Stay away from there.  If I catch you trying to steal anything I'll break your fingers if the security runes don't fry you first."

It was casually delivered, but Bucky believed him. His nerves did not improve. "I won't go anywhere near them."

"Then we won't have a problem. Come on." As Brock led him into the camp men and women started appearing, watching Bucky curiously. Brock ignored them so Bucky did the same, keeping his eyes on Brock's back. "Showers and toilets," he said pointing at the small building. "Meals." He pointed at the larger one. "We have a cook, doubles as a processor." They stopped outside a smallish van near the edge of the camp, set in the shade of several trees. "Here, this one'll be yours." When Bucky looked inside it was small but clean: a bed, a set of drawers, some shelves, a little table. "This one gives you some privacy, but if I catch you bringing someone back here you'll regret it."

Bucky's eyes narrowed, nerves quelled by a rush of irritation. "I signed up for a year. I'm not going to be bringing anyone back here." He wouldn't bring anyone back here anyway, but that wasn't a conversation he'd ever have with Brock.

"Just making sure we all know where we stand." Brock waved him inside. "Get settled. I'll send someone to get you when dinner's on. You might want to get some rest. We'll be going out in the morning and we start just after dawn."

He let the door swing shut and Bucky sat on the edge of the bed. Wondering what he'd gotten himself into. Not that it mattered, it was too late to back out now.

 

* * *

 

Someone banged on Bucky's door a few hours later and he jumped up with a start. When he opened it, a tall guy with slicked back dark hair and a thin pointy face said, "Jack Rollins. Rumlow sent me to bring you to dinner." Bucky nodded and followed as he led him to the meal hall. "When Rumlow's not around, I'm in charge."

"Okay." Bucky wasn't sure what else to say to something like that, especially when it didn't need to be said. Bucky was an Indenture. _Everyone_ was in charge of him. Jack nodded, but gave no indication he'd welcome much in the way of conversation, so Bucky opted for silence.

As he followed Jack through the door to the meal hall he found himself the focus of a hundred eyes. All of them staring avidly. Jack peeled off, leaving him to face them alone and Bucky felt a sudden kinship with small, hunted creatures everywhere.

The owners of the eyes—and there weren't fifty of them, but it felt like it—were sprawled at a bunch of square tables, set haphazardly around the large room, like they'd been shoved around over the years and no one could be bothered to set them in any sort of order. The people staring at Bucky were women and men, different sizes and shapes and shades, but they shared a certain look, all wearing some version of tough dark pants and boots, most of them in loose, light shirts.

Jack dropped to sit near Brock at a table up the front, close to a long bench covered in food that had already been picked over. Everyone staring at Bucky had a full plate in front of them.  

Bucky stayed where he was, everyone kept staring at him, and Bucky thought he was going to snap from the tension, until finally Brock stood up and banged his fist on the table. "Hey!"

Attention instantly switched from Bucky to Brock and Bucky sagged in relief. "Barnes, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Barnes. Introduce yourselves on your own time. The important thing is he's our new virgin. I know, he's very pretty," a murmur of laughter ran around the room; Bucky fought the urge to wrap his arms around himself, "but that means no seducing him, got it? I lose our new virgin to one of you, I'll cut off a significant part of your anatomy." Bucky found himself on the receiving end of Brock's glare. " _Both_ your anatomies, because that goes for you, too, Barnes. Understand?" Bucky nodded. "Everyone understand?" he asked, looking around the room.

A chorus of "Yes, Brock," "Yes, Rumlow," and "Yes, Sir!" came back from the room full of hunters, and they sounded like nothing so much as a bevy of extraordinarily rough, extraordinarily sarcastic schoolchildren.

"Good." Brock dropped back into his seat. "Barnes, grab some food."

"Does this mean we're actually going to get off our asses and go hunting?" someone asked.

"We head out in the morning," Brock replied. "And then every morning as long as they hold out. We've got lost time to make up for."

The room filled up with excited chatter at Brock's reply. Apparently no longer of any interest, Bucky made his way around the edge of the room to fill a plate from the bench. It was mostly vegetables, some roast meat, and a plate of flat bread. He hesitated over the meat. They wouldn't...would they?

"It's deer." He looked up to find one of the hunters watching him from her table.

Deer. Of course. He was being _stupid_. No one would eat a unicorn. "Uh, thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm Wanda. Resident mage." She gestured at the man sitting next to her, who was ignoring Bucky in favour of eating. "My brother, Pietro." He grunted an acknowledgement. "Shall I tell you who everyone else is?"

He wasn't sure he'd remember, but it couldn't hurt. "That'd be great." She nodded, and pointed to each hunter in turn, naming them. Brock he knew, and Jack, but Trojak, tall and broad, with black skin and coiled hair, was the third man sitting at their table. Elsie Carson and Jasmine were practically a matched set at another table, both with dark skin and cheerful expressions. They waved at Wanda when she pointed their way, their short bouncy hair equally as cheerful as they appeared.

Carmilla Black looked like she'd never heard the meaning of cheerful, and if someone tried to introduce it to her she'd be likely to gut it. "Don't try and make friends," Wanda advised. "She only talks to Cass." Cass was sharing Camilla's table in a begrudging sort of way, neither precisely acknowledging each other, but neither seemed unhappy. Both had coppery skin, but there the resemblance ended. Carmilla's head was shaved and she was taller than Jack, her shoulders half again as wide as Brock's. Cass was short, lean and wiry, with chestnut braids so long they almost brushed the floor. Her expression was thoughtful as she gazed at Bucky. Bucky offered her a tentative nod and she nodded back before returning to her meal.

Anton, Gregory Bel, Sanzetti, and Jared Kurtz were sitting at a single table and they kind of blended together. They were around Bucky's height, had tans that had turned their pale skin gold and dark hair of varying lengths, but there was a sameness to them, the only difference being that Sanzetti was a woman. She gave him a speculative look, eyes slowly travelling over him, like she was thinking about testing the limits of Brock's warning, and Bucky hurriedly returned his attention to Wanda.

"Thanks."

"I remember what it was like to be new."

Pietro lifted his head, glancing between them, before fixing his gaze on Bucky. It was flat, unwelcoming, and he gestured at Bucky's plate. "You should go eat that, before it gets cold."

Wanda frowned at him, but Bucky gave her a half-smile. "He's right. Thanks again."

"Don't get attached," he heard Pietro mutter as he made his way towards an unoccupied table.

It hadn't been meant for him, but it was good advice all the same.


	4. Chapter 4

A pounding noise woke him and Bucky sat up, dazed and blinking. "Get up," rang through the door. "Breakfast and then we're heading out."

Bucky wasn't really awake when he stumbled out of his van. Someone shoved a tin mug of strong tea into one hand, someone else shoved flatbread wrapped around last night's dinner into the other, and he sat down on the steps of his van, ate and drank, and slowly woke up.

"Ready?" It was one of the hunters Wanda had pointed out last night, Cass, and she was tapping her foot impatiently, her braids flicking back and forth in time.

"Uh, yeah."

"Come on." He left the mug on the step and followed her, and she pointed him towards the ute Brock was driving. "Get in." Bucky climbed in and stared out the window as they made their way through the preserve. The shimmer of water he'd seen through the trees yesterday became a pond, surrounded by red-barked trees.

The barely-a-road Brock was following took them past a field of long, pale yellow grass and a deep, thickly forested patch of trees. It was slowly sinking in as they drove, the sun shining overhead, surrounded by bird calls, exactly what he was going to have to do when they got where they were going.

A man on a bike appeared though the trees, pacing them. He was dressed much the same as the hunters, but Bucky didn't recognise him. "Who's that?" Bucky asked, pointing.

Brock glanced over and grunted. "That's the Warden."

"Warden?"

"Don't you know anything?" Bucky shook his head. He'd heard the term before, but had only the vaguest idea what they did. Brock grunted again. "Warden enforces the law, keeps us hunters in line," he showed his teeth, "keeps any do-gooders from interfering with us. He's a too-good-for-the-likes-of-us pain in my ass I've been putting up with for three years. You'll meet him eventually."

"Right."

Too soon, they were pulling to a stop and Bucky could see a small herd of unicorns grazing in the distance. No one got out of their vehicles. "You ready for this, Barnes?"

He glanced at Brock, who was leaning back in the driver's seat, one hand loose on the steering wheel, gesturing in the direction of the herd. Bucky turned to look at the unicorns. Two had raised their heads, watching the vehicles suspiciously. They were beautiful, shades of cream and gold, manes hanging past their shoulders, tufts of their tails brushing the grass. Even from here Bucky could see how bright their eyes were. How full of life.

Bucky was not ready for this. Seeing them, knowing what he was about to do, about to be part of, it all crashed down on him. Every part of him was screaming this was wrong. He glanced at Brock again, who was wearing a knowing smirk. He didn't have a choice. "Ready as I'll ever be," he replied, and was proud his voice didn't shake. It wanted to.

"Go on, then. Get out there." Brock reached over him and shoved the door open. "We don't have all day."

With a hard swallow, Bucky got out of the ute.

He slowly began to walk towards the unicorns. More heads came up, until all six were gazing at him. Their ears pricked forward and they came to meet him.

"Go away," Bucky murmured. "For fuck's sake, _go away_. You stupid— Why do you even _care_?"

They didn't listen. They began to trot towards him and soon he was surrounded, their eyes half closed, heads low. It was like they were drunk or drugged, mesmerised by his presence. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Turns out you were telling the truth after all." Bucky jumped. Brock's voice was very loud as he shoved his way through the unicorns. They didn't react; for them, Bucky was the only thing that existed.

"What?"

"Yeah, the test with the horn isn't a hundred percent accurate. The only way to really know if you're a virgin is to toss you in and see if they kill you." He slapped Bucky on the shoulder, hard enough he staggered, and his skin wanted to crawl away. "Seen it happen, some asshole shows up, thinks he can con us, then we get to see him turned into paste. Serves the pricks right." He turned and yelled, "Bring in the gear. And you, you stay right where you are," he told Bucky.

As Bucky watched, the rest of the hunting party pushed their way forward, laying down tarps and shoving the unicorns over so each one was standing on a piece of tough canvas. Then they left and came back carrying buckets and knives.

The unicorns didn't move, didn't react, as buckets were carefully placed under their necks. They just kept gazing serenely at Bucky.

They didn't move as the hunters, with delicate precision, split their jugular veins and let them bleed out into the buckets. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut.

"No you don't." There was a hard hand on his shoulder, shaking him, and he pulled away. "Get em open," Brock demanded and Bucky's eyes snapped open. "You keep watching." Slowly the unicorns sank to their knees and then to their sides in a slow, graceful fall, eyes still locked on Bucky as the life left them completely.

Brock dipped two fingers into a bucket and smeared blood across Bucky's cheek, too fast for Bucky's flinch away to do any good. The others laughed, even if Wanda gave him a look of sympathy. "There, now you're one of us." He stepped back and considered his handiwork. "Lookin' a little pale there, Barnes." The blood on his face was warm, Brock's hand was red with blood, and his expression was sly. Bucky swallowed hard. "Not gonna puke are you?"

"No." He balled his hands into fists. "Can I go now?"

"Don't want to stay and help? There's a lot of work to do."

"No." The blood was slowly trickling down his face and in that moment he hated Brock. "You paid me to be your virgin, not butcher unicorns. I did my job." He was an Indenture. He knew with a word Brock could make him stay.

"Go, but don't go far." Bucky didn't reply, just picked his way out of the circle of dead unicorns, past the hunters starting to cut off their horns and shear off their manes. "If you find any unicorns out there, bring them back with you!" Brock called after him.

Bucky made it far enough away they wouldn’t be able to see him, wouldn’t be able to hear him, before he hit his knees and started vomiting.

They'd walked right up to him and _died._

He heaved again, clutching his stomach.

"Easy." Out of nowhere there was a soothing voice and a hand on his shoulder and he didn't know who it was, who was touching him, but his stomach was committed to emptying itself not just of breakfast but of everything it had ever held and he had nothing to spare for worrying. When the hand moved down, started rubbing his back, Bucky arced away from it, his whole body tensing. The hand lifted away, but the voice was still soothing, saying it was okay, it was going to be okay.

Bucky kept heaving until there was nothing left. Tears were streaming down his face. "They just stood there while they cut their throats," he got out.

"Yeah," the voice said softly, no judgement. "Yeah, they did."

Finally Bucky thought he was done. He shuffled backwards, away from the mess and, like magic, a handkerchief, an honest to gods handkerchief, appeared in front of him. "Wipe your face, your eyes. It's okay."

Bucky took it and did, finished by scrubbing the blood off his cheek, then held it crumpled in his hand while whoever owned the voice stood at his shoulder. He lifted his head to meet blue eyes filled with concern.

It was the Warden.

Bucky stared up at him and he crouched down. "Sorry," he said with a small smile. "Felt a bit uncomfortable, looming over you like that."

Bucky kept staring, because he couldn't quite work out what was going on.

"I'm Steve," he offered. "You're Barnes, right?"

"Bucky." Right now, he didn't want to be _Barnes_. He needed to be himself, to be _Bucky._

"Okay, Bucky. How about we get you back to your people? I don't have any water with me or I'd give it to you, but I'm guessing your mouth must taste like shit right about now."

It did, and he was suddenly thirsty, but he didn't think anything good would come of being seen with the Warden. Bucky scrambled to his feet and away from Steve. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "I mean, thanks for your help, but I'm fine. To get back. I don't need help."

Steve stayed where he was, watching him, then nodded. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

Two things occurred to him as he hurried away: one, that he still had Steve's crumpled up handkerchief in his hand, and two, if that had been someone from Hydra who'd seen him throwing up, he was sure there wouldn't have been any kind words. Just harsh laughter and instructions to toughen up.

 

* * *

 

Steve watched him go. He wanted to follow him, make sure he got back alright, but he resisted the urge. Bucky had said he didn't want help and Steve tried not to go where he wasn't wanted. Instead he turned and headed back to the ridge where he'd left his bike.

He could keep an eye on him from there.

He couldn't help feeling sorry for Bucky. He'd seen enough of them over the years to know first hunts were always hard. The first one Steve had seen hadn't been easy, and he'd had years in the Guard under his belt. Maybe he should have stayed out of it, but Rumlow had put Bucky through his stupid initiation, smearing blood on his face, and Bucky had kept it together until he was far enough away no one would see him spilling his guts. Most first timers didn't, they tossed their guts right then and there, and it wasn't in him to let someone go through that alone.

He probably shouldn't have touched him. Definitely shouldn't have, if the way Bucky had twisted away from him was anything to go by, but Steve couldn't blame him for that. If a stranger had come up to _him_ in the woods while he was next thing to helpless and started putting hands on him, he'd have reacted badly, too.

It had simply been automatic to try and comfort him.

 _Never mind._ Steve straddled his bike and leaned back, feet braced on the ground, and watched Bucky make his way back to the vehicles. He resolutely didn't stare at him, splitting his attention between Bucky and the preserve around them.

 

* * *

 

The trip back to camp was slow, the utes weighed down by the carefully packaged loads in the back.

There was nothing that was recognisable as a dead unicorn. They'd been reduced to component parts, as much as was possible with the tools the hunters had available in the field, stowed in boxes and jars and wrapped pieces. Everything shimmered slightly with the haze of Wanda's magic, keeping it fresh, keeping it contained, until they could load it into the processing sheds.

Bucky stared up into the sky and remembered his Presentation day. His new clothes had been scratchy, his collar too tight. It had been him and his mother and father, Becca not even born yet. The Temple Virgin had led the unicorns out of the fog-shrouded forest and the unicorns had seemed to glow, their spiralling horns shining, their coats gleaming, tails hanging calm and unconcerned, the curling tuft of silky hair at the end brushing the feathery hair around their cloven hooves.

He'd placed his hands on a unicorn's nose and spoken his name, Presented to the unicorns along with the other children, so the gods above would always know them, and their words had drifted into the sky.  

And now he'd helped kill them. He swallowed hard against the nausea that wanted to return.

He wasn't a child anymore. He knew unicorns weren't kind, gentle creatures. They were dangerous animals, rendered tame only in the presence of a virgin. Everything that had just happened was, in the eyes of the Temple and the gods above, not wrong, but the sense of wrongness he'd felt in the pub was magnified a thousandfold.

"Barnes." Brock's voice was rough and Bucky blinked back to here and now to find Brock staring at him impatiently. They were back in camp and the hunters were already unloading the utes.

"What?"

"Don't get in our way."

He stayed in the ute when Brock jumped out and joined the other hunters. It was oddly like a dance, the way they moved together. No one got in anyone's way, no one dropped anything or stumbled. The utes were unloaded, boxes and jars and ungainly bundles taken into the processing sheds—Wanda placed her hands on the runes of first one and then the other and they flared to brilliant life—and between one moment and the next the hunters were gone, had disappeared into the sheds, and Bucky was effectively alone, sitting in the ute.

"And tomorrow we get to do it all again," he muttered to the sky. _Only twelve months to go_.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning was a repeat of the day before, up to and including Steve's presence. Bucky watched him as he paced the hunters and felt a tiny bit better, seeing him there. Brock's voice finally pulled his attention away, but he wasn't talking to Bucky. They'd stopped downwind from the herd, much larger than yesterday's, and Brock had a notebook out, Jack leaning in the window while they studied them.

"Okay, I see two mares with foals and at least four who could be pregnant. I want them out, and," Brock stopped, checked the notebook, and said, "yeah, and the two stallions and those three mares." He pointed. "Rollins?"

"Sounds good."

"Right. The rest we take. Barnes? You're up."

This time it was easier, because he knew what to expect, and harder, because he knew what was coming.

Bucky walked through the trees towards the herd. He didn't know how they knew what he was. He knew if he wasn't a virgin they'd have bolted, or torn him apart before they let him get this close, but he could walk right up to them and they fell under his spell.

Just like last time, the hunters pushed in among the unicorns, only this time Brock had what looked like a leather punch in his hand. He walked through the herd, examining the unicorns, touching some, feeling the bellies of others. Then he used the punch to clip pieces out of their ears, spots of bright red blossoming to life.

"What are you doing?" Bucky protested. They were going to die, it seemed unnecessary cruelty to do whatever this was.

"Marking them."

"Why?"

"So we know who we let go next year." At Bucky's blank look, he said dismissively, "It's herd management. Don't worry about it." He kept notching ears, then shoved the punch in his pocket. "Okay, that's all of them. Let's go."

Then it was canvas and buckets and knives. Bucky closed his eyes as around him unicorns died. Brock said, "That doesn't make it not happen," but he didn't make him look. Didn't smear blood on his face. Bucky stood, breathing slow, and wished he could close his ears, his nose. "Gotta look now, Barnes." He opened his eyes and there were, he counted, thirteen unicorns, two of them foals, still alive and staring at him. "Lead 'em away."

"What?"

"You really don't know a damn thing, do you?" Brock shook his head. "Get them out of here so we can do our jobs. Walk 'em about five minutes in that direction." He pointed. "We'll come and get you when we're done."

Bucky did as he was told, the unicorns blindly picking their way over the dead, following Bucky as he led them through the trees and came out in a scrubby clearing. He stopped near an old stump and sat down, the unicorns crowding around him, bright spots of blood on their ears. He stared at them. "I don't know what's going on," he admitted.

The sound of a cracking branch whipped his head around. Steve was standing there. Bucky's eyes narrowed. Steve held his hands up. "Warden. Part of my job is keeping an eye on the hunts. I'm not following you specifically."

"Okay, Warden," he waved at the unicorns, grateful some of them had lived but deeply confused about _why_ , "how come they're alive?"

"Keep in mind I'm the last person in the world Rumlow would share information with, but I've seen almost every hunt since I got here and they only kill a foal if there's something wrong with it. Most of the time they don't take the whole herd. Best guess, they're making sure there's always more unicorns to hunt, since it's the same herds coming through the preserve every year."

"They killed them all last time."

"They were probably all stallions last time. Males are kind of useless."

Bucky raised both eyebrows.

"From a species point of view." 

"I really don't know anything."

"If it makes you feel any better, none of this was what I was expecting when I got out here."

"Except for the killing unicorns part."

There was a long silence. "Except for that." It was gentle, and Bucky felt something inside him ease. Steve shifted his weight. "Do you want me to go or stay?"

"You can stay," Bucky said. He wouldn't say it to Steve, but he wanted the company.

Steve crouched next to him, watching the unicorns. The foals were small, with long, spindly legs, short stubby horns, and fluffy manes, standing under their mother's necks. Steve tentatively reached out to touch one, then pulled his hand back.

"You can touch them. They won't know."

"That's why I don't want to." Bucky nodded in understanding. "It's strange being this close to them with no priests around, no Temple Virgins."

"I definitely don't qualify." Steve raised an eyebrow at him and Bucky shrugged. "It's true." Steve shifted, stood, stretching his legs, then crouched down again, leaning a little on Bucky's tree stump. "You don't like looming over people, do you?"

"Well." Steve tilted his head to smile crookedly at Bucky. "Not you, anyway."

"How come not me?"

Steve shrugged. "Doesn't feel right."

Bucky wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. They fell into silence, surrounded by the sound of unicorns, shuffling hooves and gusting breaths, and the wind through the trees. Bucky tipped his head back, staring up into the sky, shading his eyes against the sun. Steve was a solid presence next to him, quiet and still, and Bucky tilted his head to watch him. He was staring past the unicorns, attentive. Alert.

A voice from behind them made Bucky jump. "Isn't this cosy."

Steve rose slowly to his feet, taller and broader than Brock, and Bucky had a sudden inkling of who, exactly, Steve wouldn't have a problem looming over. "Rumlow."

"Warden." The word was respectful, the lilt of sarcasm anything but. Steve didn't respond. "Barnes, time to go. Warden, you'd better make yourself scarce. If you're anywhere near them when they break free you won't last long."

"Nice to know you care," Steve told him, dry as dust. "Bucky, look after yourself."

"You too." Bucky followed Brock and the unicorns followed him, parting around Steve like a wave.

Brock led him to a bike and climbed on. "We have to outrun them, get you out of proximity, so you'd better hang on."

He did not want to touch Brock, not even to hang on, but Brock was glaring at him impatiently and he knew he didn't have a choice. He put his hands on Brock's sides, but Brock said, "Around my waist, come on, Barnes. If you fall off and die, you're useless," and Bucky reluctantly complied. "Here we go."

It was fast and rough and he had to cling to Brock, pressed up against his back, and the old greasy feeling was rising up in him as they left the unicorns behind and circled around to head back to camp. As soon as they stopped, Bucky was off the bike like a shot, putting distance between him and Brock.

"Barnes?" Bucky braced himself. There was a tone in Brock's voice he'd never heard before. "Good work today." He stared at Brock in surprise, who barked a laugh. "Hey, credit where credit's due. You didn't lose your shit this time, you did your job, and you're making friendly with the Warden."

"That's a good thing?" He shouldn't ask, he should just take the win and move on, but he couldn’t help poking at it like a sore tooth.

"Can't hurt and he doesn't want to be friends with any of us. Who knows, maybe he's got a thing for virgins." Bucky's heart sank. "I wouldn't worry about it, though, guy's got a stick up his ass about doing the right thing. He's not gonna try anything."

"You don't actually think that's why..." The words were coming out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Oh for fuck's sake. No, I don't. I know _that_ kind and the Warden's not one of them. Now are we finished with the heart to heart, or do you want to braid each other's hair?" Brock rolled his eyes and headed towards the processing sheds where the utes were being unloaded.

 

* * *

 

There were more hunts, but they slowed down, falling back into what Bucky learned was the normal schedule as the unicorns migrated through the preserve. Bucky's arrival had been a scrabble to make up for lost time, to grab herds before they migrated out, to fill orders left unfulfilled. Even with the closing of the Kyden workshop they'd fallen behind.

In each hunt, Brock left unicorns alive. He notched their ears and Bucky, who spent a lot of time staring at the red welling up in those soft furred ears, noticed that almost all of them had older, fully healed notches to go with the new.

When he asked, Brock replied, "I already told you, it's herd management," in an impatient tone that didn't invite more questions.

Steve became a regular fixture, appearing while Bucky waited to crouch next to him, finding a space to fit among Bucky's fixated unicorns. 

"Shouldn't you be supervising them?" Bucky asked one day, waving in the direction of the hunters.

"Not really. Before the hunt, my job's to make sure no one tries to lure the unicorns out of the preserve. At this point it's to make sure Rumlow's not luring unicorns into the preserve and keep anyone from outside from interfering in the hunt. And I can't remember the last time someone tried to interfere in a hunt."

"Brock would probably throw them to the unicorns before you could get to them. Not worried about unicorns being lured in?"

"They'd need you for that." Steve shaded his eyes and looked up at the sun, like he was checking the time. "And you don't strike me as that kind of person."

"No," Bucky agreed, feeling a tiny trickle of warmth at Steve's words.

Every time, when Brock arrived to retrieve Bucky, he'd have something sardonic to say to Steve, but he'd give Bucky an imperceptible nod of approval. Bucky did his best to ignore it.


	6. Chapter 6

There was almost nothing about this life Bucky could compare with his old one. They were simply too different. He was an Indenture, he was calling unicorns to the hunt, and he didn't know for sure if his family was safe or even where they were. There was no one to blame but himself for that last one—for all of it, really—but he had faith in his mother. With the money he'd given her he had to believe she and Becca were okay. He mostly dealt with it by not thinking about it.

One of the strangest things about this life was how much of it was lived outdoors. Kyden hadn't been a fancy city, but it had been a decent sized town and people had lived life inside. In houses, in halls, in schools, at work. Even the Temple had been almost entirely under cover, with only a small garden for the trees and hives.

The hunters existed almost entirely _outside_. When the weather was bad they'd retreat to the meal hall to play cards or bicker or play obscene charades, but beyond that, if it could be done outside, they did it. Sitting in the sun or the shade to read or repair gear or embroider or whittle or any one of the dozen ways they used to fill their downtime. They'd nap in the grass or sit around the unlit fire pit and swap stories even Bucky knew were bullshit.

It was like they were allergic to being indoors, and that was when they were in camp at all.

Even when they weren't hunting unicorns half the time they were out hunting something: deer, rabbit, who knew what else. One day Pietro came in with a full brace of tiny birds and Bucky had no idea how he'd caught them. He grinned when he saw Bucky staring, told him, "I'm just that fast," and went to give them to the cook. However he'd caught them, they were delicious.

Bucky slowly adapted. He was on the outside looking in and he preferred to keep it that way, but he could feel himself settling in to their way of life and he let it happen. The way the hunters dressed, tough pants in leather or cotton made sense when you were going to be out in the bush, much better than what he'd brought. Light cotton shirts with long sleeves you could roll up, with buttons you could open at the neck, made sense. They were cool, airy, adjustable if the day changed. Jared and Elsie were willing to trade some of their practical clothes for his _fancy town stuff_ , and they all walked away happy.

When Trojak caught wind of it, he dug a pair of decent boots out of a pile of discarded gear and tossed them to Bucky without a word.

 

* * *

 

Summer gave way completely to autumn and one hunt morning, while Bucky was sitting with Wanda and Pietro, who had grunted at him but grudgingly accepted his presence, eating a hastily assembled breakfast of apple, cheese, and honey shoved into flatbread, he realised he felt easier about what he was about to do.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

 

* * *

 

The next day was gorgeous, blindingly bright, the sky deep blue and cloudless, and Bucky was sitting near the fire pit, drinking tea and wriggling his bare toes in the soft grass. The day after a hunt always meant a trip to town, Brock, Jack, and Wanda delivering mage-sealed crates to the train station, the rest of the hunters going along for the ride. Bucky had never been invited, but that meant soon everyone would be gone and he'd have a few hours of peace and quiet.

He glanced up when Wanda walked over and stopped in front of him, then stared at her in surprise verging on shock when she asked, "Do you want to come with us?"

"I," he started, then stopped, because he didn't actually know if he was _allowed_ , and that was a thought that dug into him, but he shoved it away. Brock was in ear-shot, making Bucky wonder if any of this was coincidence, but in the two months he'd been here he hadn't left the preserve and the chance to go somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, was suddenly all he could think about, so he decided he didn't care. He glanced at Brock, Brock shrugged, clearly communicating he didn't care either way, so Bucky said, "Yes." 

"Good." She seemed pleased. "You've got ten minutes. Wash your face and Bucky? Shoes. We can't have you embarrassing us."

Bucky took a second to realise she was teasing and he rolled his eyes at her retreating back as he climbed to his feet. He had no idea what had prompted the invitation, but he was going to take advantage of it.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Brock materialised in front of him, scowling. "Here." He shoved coins into Bucky's hand, muttered, "Even if a man's a virgin he should be able to buy a damn drink," and stomped away before Bucky could say anything. Even if he hadn't, Bucky wasn't sure he would have managed it.

He stared at the coins in his hand. As an Indenture, he'd known he'd have nothing, not even two copper pieces to rub together, and here he was with a handful of coin.

He stared at them, glinting in the sun.

It hit him then, that none of the formless fears of what would happen to him, of how he'd be treated—none of them had taken shape. That first hunt had been bad, Brock had been an asshole, but Bucky had figured out it was some kind of ritual. It _didn't_ make it okay, but it was better than the random cruelty he'd first thought. Nothing else had happened. No one had treated him badly, not like he'd thought they'd treat an Indenture.

Bucky mostly tried to stay out of everyone's way, but when he couldn't, the hunters treated him the same as everyone else. It wasn't what he'd expected.

 

* * *

 

After that Bucky had a standing invitation to join trips into town, the same as every other hunter.

When he went, he didn't stay with them. The hunters drank at The Third Leg. It was rough and loud and hired its rooms out by the half hour, and no one cared what you did or who you were as long as you paid your tab. It was where Bucky had found Brock in the first place.

Bucky liked to look in shop windows at things he couldn't afford, spend half an hour at the store with the second-hand books that he also couldn't afford, and then make his way to the Somewhere Else. Louth had no shortage of pubs, not surprising given it was the intersection of three rail lines, and the Somewhere Else was usually quiet.

It had a long verandah, where he could lean back, put his feet on the railing, and drink his single ale in peace. The regulars ignored him. He'd never be a regular, no matter how often he came here, because as far as they were concerned he was one of the hunters, but no one gave him grief about it.

The only time he had problems was when a passenger train came through. That's when he attracted attention.

He knew what he looked like, knew he had a face and a body people wanted, and it was worse now. His skin was tanned gold, his hair was getting long, curling around his ears, and he was dressing like a hunter. It was practical and cool, but he knew it made him look a certain way.

It was why they sauntered over, men and women both, and smiled while their eyes had him half-undressed already. It went one of two ways when he told them he was Hydra's virgin—and he always went with that, because it was simple, no one could argue against it. He knew how _not interested_ went. It inevitably led to _but_ _why_ and attempts to persuade and sometimes touching, fingers on his skin, in his hair... No. Much easier to make it clear that being uninterested was his job.

Usually it got him a rueful smile and some variation of _that's a damn shame_. Very occasionally it had the opposite effect, like he'd offered himself on a platter labelled _guaranteed virgin._

Today had brought one of those. Bucky had his back to the wall, was hunched over his ale, finally alone, having chased his far too persistent would-be suitor off with bared teeth and a growl he'd stolen from Brock, when a shadow fell over him, someone tall and broad blocking the sun.

The floor creaked as whoever it was shifted. Without bothering to look up Bucky said, "You can take whatever offer you're about to trot out and shove it up your ass."

Surprised silence filled the air. Bucky lifted his head, best glare in place, and met Steve's eyes. A tiny shock jolted though him. Steve wasn't supposed to be _here_. Steve was the preserve and the sharp smell of the trees and the sound of unicorns. Bucky couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but seeing him here, he was different, and the _comfortable_ he usually felt was nowhere to be found.

"Was that meant for me?" Steve asked.

"Depends," Bucky replied, slightly on edge.

"On?"

"On whether you were about to make an _earnest_ and _heartfelt,_ " Bucky poured sarcasm into the words, "offer to thoroughly disqualify me for my current position."

Steve parsed that, then his eyes narrowed. "I see. No, I wasn't. At all. I take it you've been having an interesting afternoon?"

"You could say that."

"Is there someone you'd like me to, I don't know, have words with?"

Bucky stared up at him. Steve stared back, and he was _Steve_ again, even without the preserve. The same Steve who talked to him on hunts when Bucky was alone with the unicorns. The same Steve who'd been so kind to him that first hunt. Bucky suddenly felt lighter, edginess draining away, comfortable flowing back. "Have words with?" he asked, not even trying to hide how amused the turn of phrase made him.

Steve shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"No, I can take care of myself. But thanks."

"No problem." He shifted his feet. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Bucky thought about it, tapping his fingers, then shook his head and shoved the other chair out with his foot. "No. Grab a seat."

With a quick smile, Steve sat, setting his ale on the table. "Thanks." He leaned back, stretching out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. Settling in. Bucky couldn't help the tiny smile at how easily he relaxed into the space.

It faded as he considered whether or not to share the thought that had just popped into his head. Steve took a long swallow of his ale, head tipped back to expose the vulnerable line of his neck, and Bucky found himself saying, "There's something you should know before you get too comfortable."

"What's that?"

"You know how Brock's seen us talking?"

Steve sat forward, radiating concern. "Is that a problem? I don't want to—"

Bucky held up a hand. "No, he's happy we're being, uh, friendly. That's the problem, what I need to tell you. He thinks it'll pay off for Hydra." 

Steve's concern faded and he leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of his ale. "Is that what you're hoping for?"

"No. But I thought you should know, so you could decide if you want to keep talking to me."

"If I cared what Rumlow thought..." Steve made the face of a man who'd bitten into something rotten. "I'll _never_ care what Rumlow thinks. I like talking to you. It's not going to make a damn bit of difference how I treat Hydra, but I like talking to you."

"Why?"

"Why don't I care what Rumlow thinks or why do I like talking to you?"

Bucky lightly kicked Steve's chair. "Don't be clever, you know what I mean."

"Can't help it." Steve grinned, eyes sparkling. "I'm naturally clever."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Don't worry, I will. And," he lifted one shoulder, "who knows? I just do. Don't get too excited. It's not like I get to talk to a lot of people, you're not up against much competition."

"That's really sad."

"I know," Steve said mournfully, clearly playing it up, but Bucky thought maybe there was a hint of truth to it. He opened his mouth to say...something, he wasn't sure what, when a bellow cut through the air.

"Barnes!" It made him jump. Brock. He was standing in the road, gesturing him over. The other hunters were watching Bucky—or more accurately, watching Bucky and _Steve_ —with varying degrees of avid curiosity. "Get your ass over here. We're leaving."

Bucky stood. "I'd better go or I'll miss my ride back to camp."

Steve was frowning at Brock. "If you want to stay, I don't mind taking you."

"No." He could imagine Brock's reaction to that. It would either be _no_ , and Bucky technically couldn't argue, or it would be _yes_ , with the mistaken belief that Bucky was working on Steve's attitude towards Hydra. Neither were appealing. He softened his refusal with a quick smile. "Thanks, though."

"If you're sure." Steve was still frowning at Brock, but he turned back to Bucky.

"I'm sure."

"Okay." He gave a quick nod. "See you, Bucky."

"See you, Steve."

 

* * *

 

Someone watching Steve wouldn't have been able to tell he was watching Bucky hop off the verandah and fall in with the hunters. As they disappeared down the street, Steve found himself wishing Bucky had stayed. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he liked talking to Bucky. He was a bit surprised he'd admitted it, but it had felt like a natural response to Bucky telling him what Rumlow was thinking. 

 _That_ hadn't been a surprise. Not even close. Of course Rumlow saw Steve being friendly with Bucky and started looking for a way he could get something out of it. There wasn't much Rumlow wouldn't do for Hydra; he wouldn't hesitate to shove Bucky at the local Warden.

It didn't tell him anything he didn't already know about Rumlow, but it told him a lot about Bucky. Steve didn't think he was fooling himself that Bucky liked talking to him, too, and Bucky had been prepared to give that up—because Bucky didn't know him all that well yet, couldn't have known for sure how Steve would react—to make sure Steve knew what was going on in Rumlow's head. That told Steve what sort of person Bucky was.

As for Rumlow, he could think what he wanted. Steve liked talking to Bucky. He liked the way Bucky had been ready to tear a strip off him before he'd realised who Steve was. He liked the way Bucky had invited him to sit down.

He liked the way Bucky had said he didn't want Steve to leave him alone. Steve intended to take him at his word, because he just liked Bucky.


	7. Chapter 7

Louth was busy today, two passenger trains—one from the capital, one from Pindar—meant there were people everywhere, and none of them seemed to have any idea how to walk for more than thirty seconds without stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and staring blankly, mouths gaping open like landed fish.

Steve tried to be a patient man, but he'd come down from his camp to buy cinnamon, that was all he wanted to do, get in and get out, and he was very much afraid he was going to give in to temptation and toss one of them into a nearby rain barrel, see if they could swim like the fish they resembled.

Fortunately for the couple who'd just stopped dead in front of him, something else caught his attention.

"Steve, hold up a minute!" Steve turned around to see Sam hurrying towards him, people getting out of his way, because that's what you did when a man of the Temple was rushing towards you, robes flapping around his legs.

"Hey, Sam," he said, ducking his head briefly in respect. "What can I do for you?"

"I—" Sam stopped, and his smile took on shades of ruefulness. "You know, this isn't how it's supposed to work. I'm supposed to offer help to those in need, not seek it, but right now I need help. Your help, specifically. Warden Roger's help, not Steve's."

"You need a Unicorn Warden's help?"

"That's exactly what I need." Sam drew him away from the sidewalk, away from the people. "There's a unicorn down, at least one leg broken, maybe more. I can't get close enough to tell for sure. She's in pain, Steve, and you're the only with the authority to help her."

Steve ran a hand through his hair. He knew what Sam meant when he said _help_ , and Sam was right; he was the only one who could, but... "There's no chance of saving her?"

"Even if she was a horse, I don't think there'd be anything anyone could do." There was sorrow in Sam's voice. "None of the gods' creatures should suffer like that, especially not a unicorn. If she was on the preserve, I'd have gone to the hunters, but she's not. And you and I both know the law means it's death if anyone but you touches her."

"I know. Okay, Sam. I'll need to go back to camp first. I didn't come armed for...that. Unless?"

"I'm a purely peaceful man these days. I don't have anything that'll help you."

"All right, so back to camp," he was basically talking to himself now, "and I know you don't have a Temple Virgin."

"There's just me, and I am _not_ qualified. Someone in town might be willing," Sam suggested, but it was reluctant.

"No. I'll work something out or we'll do without. I'll be back as soon as I can."

 

* * *

 

This wasn't how Steve had intended to not leave Bucky alone, but this was going to go much easier if he had Bucky's help. After he left his camp, he rode into Hydra's and was instantly the focus of every eye, none of them hostile, but no one was setting out cookies and tea.

Rumlow wandered over, ever so casual. "Something I can help you with, Warden?"

"Actually, yeah."

"This is a good day, the Warden needs something from us." Rumlow leaned back on the nearest van and grinned. "Tell me more."

"It's actually Bucky I need something from."

"Bucky?" Rumlow was all blank-faced confusion and Steve knew he was faking, but he wasn't in a position to call him on it. Not today. He had to play Rumlow's game.

"Your virgin?"

"Oh, _Barnes_." Rumlow raised his voice and yelled, "Barnes, get your butt over here."

A van door banged open and Bucky appeared, standing on the top stair and scowling. "I’m not your dog, Brock. If you need me, come and get me."

Brock didn't say anything, just pointed at Steve, who gave a small wave. Bucky started a little, like seeing Steve was a surprise. Which made sense. Steve always talked to him on the hunts, but the only time they'd seen each other apart from that had been almost a month ago, that day at the pub.

"It's actually me that needs you, if you're willing to help."

"How about you tell me what's going on," Brock said before Bucky could reply. "And then we'll see if anyone's going anywhere to help anyone."

Steve explained the situation, finishing with, "And it'll go a lot more smoothly if I have Bucky's help."

"No problem," Brock said, to Steve's surprise. "As long as we get the body afterwards."

 _Of course._ "You know I can't do that. It's not in the preserve."

"Then why should I let you have Barnes?"

"Because it's the right thing to do?" Steve's lips quirked even as he said it, because he knew how ridiculous it was to say that to Rumlow; he'd known the man long enough to get the measure of him.

Rumlow barked a laugh. "I always said you were a funny guy." He eyed Steve, eyed Bucky, who was watching him expectantly, then threw his hands up in the air. "Ah, why not. You caught me on a good day. Barnes, it's up to you. Go, don't go, but if you go, tell that Deacon he's got to put in a good word with the gods for me. Warden, I don't have to tell you to bring him back in one piece," he said over his shoulder as he walked off.

Steve and Bucky stared after him. "Did that just happen?" Steve asked.

"I think it did."

"Right." Steve held out his arm. "Pinch me and then we need to go."

Bucky huffed a laugh. "I'm not pinching you."

"Then if this turns out to be a dream, I'm blaming you."

"Fine by me."

Bucky was tense when he climbed on the bike behind Steve and put his hands on Steve's sides, but he relaxed a little as they made their quick way into town. Steve performed hasty introductions, Sam smiled and thanked Bucky for helping, and they left Steve's bike and hopped into the back of Sam's ute for the trip out to the injured unicorn.

Steve braced his feet as they bounced over the rocky ground. "You okay?" he asked Bucky, who was braced next to him.

"Yeah. I just didn't expect to be doing this today."

"Neither did I."

Bucky nodded and they fell silent until the ute slowed to a stop. Steve stood up, shading his eyes, and saw the unicorn. She was down on her side, long neck stretched out, eyes wide, and even from here he could see her back leg was bent at an unnatural angle, could see red staining her cream coat. She was huddled at the base of a steep, shale-covered slope, and Steve could picture what must have happened. A slip from the top, a frantic scrabble, shale slipping under her cloven hooves until she tumbled end over end to smash into the hard ground.

Bucky hopped out of the ute and started walking towards her, broke into a run when she lifted her head and struggled to rise, trying to get to him.

He knelt next to her and she sighed softly and put her head in his lap.

"Is it okay to come close?" Steve called.

"Yeah," Bucky called back. "She won't know you're here."

It wasn't what he'd meant, he'd meant, was Bucky okay with him coming over, but he didn't bother clarifying. Instead he jumped out of the ute, Sam joining him to stand next to Bucky and the unicorn.

"Back leg broken, front leg, too. Maybe some ribs." Sam sounded sad and he crouched to gently stroke her nose. "Poor thing. Poor, broken thing. This is all we can do for her."

Steve drew his knife and knelt by her head, then stopped. This wasn't something he knew how to do.

"Steve?" Sam knelt next to him and drew his finger across a spot on her neck. "Here. You need to cut here." At Steve's look of near shock he said, "I wasn't always a Deacon."

Steve nodded. He set the tip of his knife where Sam had touched and stopped. He'd killed people in the Guard; he hadn't liked it, he didn't want to kill anyone, but sometimes it had been necessary. He didn't want to do this, but it, too, was necessary. Still he hesitated, knife resting against her neck.

There was a fleeting touch on his hand. Bucky. He met Bucky's eyes and they were filled with understanding. He took a deep breath. She wasn't suffering, not while Bucky was here, but she was broken beyond recovery. This was kindness, kindness no one else was allowed to give.

Steve's knife was sharp and he pushed it in hard, drew it smoothly across her neck. Her skin parted like butter and her blood flowed into the rocky ground. In a few minutes she was gone. Bucky scrambled to his feet, carefully laying her head down, and Steve, unthinkingly, automatically, reached out to catch his shoulder. Bucky turned to iron under his touch and Steve was already pulling his hand away when Bucky took a deep breath and relaxed. Just a little and for just a moment, and then he moved away.

Sam's head was tilted back as he whispered prayers to the blue sky and his eyes were damp. Steve realised his own were wet and wiped at them, not ashamed. Bucky stood silently by his side while Sam finished and his prayers died away.

Sam turned to look at them. "Thank you. I know this wasn't easy. For either of you." He saw Bucky twitch, surprised, out of the corner of his eye. "You helped her because she needed it, and that's why the gods put us here together. To lend a hand where we can, to help ease pain where we're able."

Steve reached to clasp Sam's shoulder and Sam pressed his hand over Steve's, squeezing tight, before letting it fall.

"Are we just going to leave her here?" Bucky asked.

"No. I'll burn the body, send her back to the gods. You're welcome to be part of it."

Bucky shook his head. Steve said, "I think we'd better get back."

"All right. I'll take you back to town, get what I need to make her an offering."

Steve cleaned his knife and sheathed it, then, with one last look at the unicorn, he climbed into the back of the ute. Bucky climbed after him. "Are you okay?" Steve asked as Sam started driving.

Bucky nodded, but he seemed unsure.

"Do you like cookies?" The look Bucky gave him in response to that was the most perfect version of non-verbal _what the fuck?_ he'd ever been given in his life. Everything suddenly felt lighter. "Well?"

"Yes?" Bucky replied cautiously.

"Good."

When Sam dropped them next to Steve's bike, he waited until Bucky was safely settled behind him, hands above his hips, then took off, and when they reached the preserve he turned not towards Hydra's camp but towards his own.

 

* * *

 

Riding behind Steve was different than riding behind Brock, and Bucky couldn't put his finger on why. He was so lost in trying to figure it out, the solid bulk of Steve blocking the wind of the bike's passage and his view of where they were going, that it took him too long to notice where they were going wasn't back to camp. "Hey," he said sharply, and Steve stopped the bike.

"Problem?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. Where are we going?" He didn't even try and keep the suspicion out of his voice. "This isn't the way back."

"Nope."

"Explain."

"You said you liked cookies."

Bucky's brain shorted out. He was comfortable with Steve in a way he wasn't usually comfortable with people, but it was hard to be comfortable when someone was kidnapping you to parts unknown. Except kidnapping to parts unknown wasn't really consistent with _You said you liked cookies._ "That's not an explanation. That doesn't even make sense."

Steve sighed and his shoulders slumped. "No, you're right. I'm sorry. And I should have asked first. Whisking you off to my camp is actually a shitty thing to do."

"That's where we're going?"

"It was, but I can take you back to Hydra."

He moved to start the bike again, but Bucky stopped him. "Wait. Are you taking me to your camp for cookies?"

"Yeah. That, and I thought..." Steve paused, tapping his fingers on the handlebars of the bike. "I thought maybe you might like a break before you went back to camp."

Steve was right, he would. "Just cookies?"

"Well, and maybe...tea?"

It sounded good. He was feeling off-kilter after what they'd just done and he wasn't sure why. Tea and cookies and a chance to sit quietly, with only Steve around, sounded very good. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"Never take me anywhere without asking ever again."

"I give you my word."

"In that case, you can give me cookies."

"And tea," Steve said, all solemn earnestness, but Bucky could see amusement lurking under the surface.

He couldn't help smiling back at him. Steve grinned in response, so obviously pleased with himself Bucky started laughing. "And tea," he agreed.

 

* * *

 

Steve's camp was tidy, shaded by tall pale-barked trees whose branches twisted overhead to create a broad patch of sun-dappled shade. The ground was covered in soft grass, with a small fire pit dug off to the side, a log next to it to serve as a seat. A neat stack of firewood stood to one side of a vegetable garden, an axe leaning against garden fence. There was a lean-to next to the van, which was easily three times the size of Bucky's because it wasn't really a van anymore. It had been turned into some kind of cross-bred van-cabin monstrosity. Steve caught him staring at it. "Want the tour?"

"Lean-to, fire-pit, log, van-cabin monstrosity, axe, firewood, garden, I think I've got it."

Steve grinned at him. "Smart ass," he said, sounding pleased with the revelation. "The monstrosity has an inside."

"Sure, I've never seen inside a Warden's monstrosity before."

"I just call it a van," Steve said, holding the door open for him.

The first thing that hit him when he walked inside was the smell. It was sweet, sugar and cinnamon and butter, and it punched him in the gut with memories of home. He froze. Steve touched him fleetingly on the shoulder, quick and unexpected, and it snapped him out of it. "Bucky? You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. When you said cookies I wasn't expecting this." There was a tray cooling on the counter next to the tiny oven, the sigil on its door dark. "If you'd said fresh-baked cookies I'd have picked up you and the bike and run here."

Steve's laugh was low and rich. It filled the van, felt like the cookie-smell, sweet and warm. "I'd like to see that. They should be cool enough to eat by now. I timed the trip into town for when they had to come out. I don't trust myself; if I don't leave I end up burning my tongue."

"Can't resist temptation. That's good to know." Bucky watched as Steve bustled around the tiny kitchen, putting the cookies on a plate, boiling the water for tea. The van's Device was as over-sized as the van itself, mounted in the corner and pulsing a pale blue, and soon the kettle was whistling.

As Steve brewed tea, Bucky shamelessly checked out the rest of the van. It was as tidy inside as the camp was outside, and it was basically one huge room, the original walls of the van cut away to join the extra space that had been built onto it.

One corner was set up as a bedroom, the large bed tucked in the corner with a chest of drawers close by. There was the table he was sitting at with its two benches, and a large, soft looking stuffed chair across from the bed next to a bookcase. It was the bookcase that made Bucky itch to get a closer look. While he was trying to decide if wandering over to poke through Steve's books would be rude, and if his desire to get his hands on more books outweighed any possible rudeness, Steve asked, "Want to sit outside?"

"Sure."

He handed Bucky a tin mug of tea and led the way outside, carrying his own mug and the plate of cookies.

Steve settled on the log, set the plate next to him, and Bucky sat in the soft grass, using the log as a backrest. After a minute, Steve slipped down and joined him on the ground, stretching out his legs. Bucky gave him a look. "Easier to talk to you this way," Steve said.

"Hmmm."

"Have a cookie."

Bucky grabbed one off the plate, nibbled the edge, and closed his eyes. It was perfect. Crisp and sweet and spicy, it melted on his tongue. "Gods above," he murmured, and bit it in half, savouring it. He made himself finish it slowly and opened his eyes to find Steve watching him, looking smug. "How did you make that out here?"

"No idea. I followed the recipe Warden Hill, she's the head of the Unicorn Wardens, gave me. It's apparently the only thing you can bake in a Warden's van and if you follow the recipe exactly they turn out like that."

"I take it back. Feel free to kidnap me whenever you want if you've got these waiting at the end."

Another rich warm laugh wrapped around him and Bucky felt something inside him respond. He grinned back and sipped his tea. His grin faded when he saw what Steve was doing. "You didn't tell me you were a monster." Steve looked up, startled, from dipping his cookie in his tea and a chunk splopped into his mug. "How can you do that to an innocent cookie?"

"Not a dunker?"

"No, because I'm not a monster." Steve snorted, shoved the rest of his sodden cookie into his mouth, broke another one in half, then pointedly dunked it into his tea. Bucky wrinkled his nose. "That poor cookie."

"It's delicious," Steve said when he was finished. "You don't know what you're missing."

"And I'm happy to keep it that way." Steve laughed at him and kept dunking cookies in his tea. Bucky couldn't watch. "You know, you're going to have cookie sludge at the bottom when you try and drink that."

"You're assuming I'm going to drink it. I'm going to make us both fresh mugs, and toss the sludge into the trees for the birds."

"So you're going to sacrifice tea _and_ cookies to your disgusting habit."

"Yup."

"As long as you're happy."

"Oh, I am."

They grinned at each other and Bucky laughed, deep and strong, tipping his head back, surprising himself. It had been a long time since he'd laughed like that. Steve looked delighted.

Eventually Steve fetched fresh tea and, true to his word, tossed the old tea, complete with soggy cookie sludge, into the trees on the way. It wasn't long before half a dozen birds appeared, pecking at it with every evidence of happiness.

"Even the birds aren't safe from you." Bucky sipped his tea. "Corrupting them."

Steve made a face at him and they drank their tea in silence. The longer it went on, the more he drifted back to the unicorn. He found himself watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. He looked good, calm, happy, but Bucky remembered Steve wiping his eyes.

Bucky would bet his entire life that Steve had never killed a unicorn. Never been involved in killing a unicorn, that the closest he'd ever come was watching the hunts. _He'd_ felt off-balance afterwards, he couldn’t imagine how Steve was feeling.

And Bucky was the only one here to make sure he was okay.

He shifted a little, so he was facing Steve, and Steve gave him a curious look. "Are you all right?" Steve's eyes went opaque. Bucky couldn't get any sense if he knew what Bucky was getting at or not. Or if wanted to know what Bucky was getting at. But Bucky remembered how hard the first hunt had been for him, how Steve had come out of nowhere to help. He wasn't going to not try unless Steve specifically told him to shut up. "You had to kill a unicorn today."

The tiniest flinch went through Steve. If he hadn't been watching for it he wouldn't have seen it. "It was for a good reason."

"It was. It was a good thing you did." He set his tea in the grass and leaned forward, with the fleeting thought that he could take Steve's hand, but it made his fingers curl away. Instead he shuffled a little closer. "It was the only thing. I know it wasn't easy."

"It wasn't, but it should have been. She was going to die. It was just a choice of whether it was slow and painful or fast and painless and that's not a choice at all."

"Steve." Bucky made his voice as gentle as he knew how. "It's okay if it was hard. Just because you were doing the right thing, that doesn't mean it had to be easy."

"Is it hard for you? I know you don't actually kill them, but—" Steve stopped and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I have no right to ask that."

"Easier than it used to be, but not easy." Steve was searching his face. "And I may not be the one wielding the knife, but it doesn't make me any less responsible. I may be the most responsible. But the Temple says what we're doing isn't wrong. And what you did today? Couldn't be further from wrong if you were on the other side of the world." Bucky smiled and, slowly, Steve smiled back. "Okay?"

"Okay." Steve didn't quite nudge him with his toe, just nudged the grass near Bucky's knee. "When did you get so smart?"

"Learned it from my mother." A pang went through him but he tried to shake it off. "She was always solving people's problems."

"Sounds like a pretty great woman."

"Yeah. I miss her." It came out low and soft, and he ran a finger around the rim of his mug, watching the sunlight reflect off the surface of the tea. "I miss my sister." He hadn't meant to say it at all, but it had pushed its way forward, like it needed to be said.

Somehow he wasn't surprised when instead of platitudes Steve tried to find a solution. "Can you visit them?"

"It's kind of complicated." He didn't want to tell Steve all the gory details of how he'd ended up here, about being indentured. "They don't know exactly where I am." Steve made a small, listening noise. Bucky found himself saying, "I'm not sure how they'd feel about me being out here, doing this. So I'm kind of stuck. I want to know how they are, but I don't want them to know where I am, so..." He lifted his hand, let it fall.

Steve thought it over. "You could ask Sam," he suggested. "He might have an idea or two." Bucky gave him a dubious look. "He's a good man. Not just because he's a Deacon, because of who he is. I've spent enough time with him to know that."

It wasn't something he would have considered on his own. "I'll think about it."

They fell into silence, not uncomfortable, but Bucky was wracking his brain for something to fill it when Steve said, "You don't have to talk." He'd tipped his head back, eyes following the clouds as they billowed through the sky. "I don't imagine you get a lot of time alone, so if you just want to sit, that's fine by me."

Bucky eyed him, trying to work out if he meant it or if he was being polite, but he couldn't see anything but sincerity. Instead of replying, he leaned back and joined Steve in watching the clouds.

He didn't notice when he dozed off, head pillowed on his arm. When he opened his eyes Steve was fixing a shirt, needle and thread moving with precision to stitch up a tear in the sleeve. "Hey," he said. "I should probably be getting you back."

Bucky looked up at the sun and scrambled to his feet. "Shit. Yes. They're going to think you kidnapped me for real."

When they rode into camp, Bucky hopped off the back of Steve's bike, ready to apologise, assuming Brock was going to be pissed, but he barely looked up from his conversation with Jack. Still, he figured should probably make some sort of effort. "I didn't mean to be gone so long."

"You were with the Warden. I wasn't worried." Bucky caught Steve's expression before he hastily covered it up: pleased and a little smug. He wasn't the only one. "Fuck off, Rogers. Being a precious prig isn't something to be proud of."

Bucky wasn't so sure about that. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fallen asleep around someone who wasn't family. If you didn't count when he was a little kid, when falling down in piles to nap was what you _did_ , he never had.

"Whatever you say, Rumlow," Steve said, then turned to Bucky. "See you, Bucky. Thanks for today."

"You're welcome. I'd say anytime but..."

"Yeah, it'd be better not to have a repeat of that." Steve met his eyes, suddenly serious. "You know where to find me if you need some quiet."

"Thanks." He watched Steve leave, then headed for the meal hall.

 

* * *

 

A path was what happened when there was regular travel between two points. For obvious reasons there'd never been a path between the Warden's camp and Hydra's.

That was starting to change.

Bucky was becoming a regular visitor. Even though there was no predicting when he would show up, it made Steve happy every time. And yes, he could see Bucky whenever there was a hunt, but it wasn't the same.

The days were getting shorter, and the evenings were more likely to find Steve inside his van than out, and he started to worry that if Bucky showed up and didn't see him, he might not knock. The obvious solution was to dig out one of his spare Device-powered spotlights and rig up a mount for it on the side of the van, so it would light up the camp, letting Steve spend more time outside.

He was flat on his stomach on the roof, rope between his teeth, another piece looped around his wrist, hanging ever-so slightly precariously over the edge while he secured the light to a chunk of wood, when it occurred to him he might be in danger.

Not of falling off the roof.

Of falling.

For Bucky.

There was nothing he could do about it up there, so he finished with the light, climbed back down to the ground, then stood, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the grass, trying to work it out.

Maybe he was wrong.

Later that afternoon, when Steve was leaning on the log, reading, Bucky appeared at the edge of the trees. Steve's heart gave a quiet thump and he knew he wasn't wrong.

 

* * *

 

The next run into town, Bucky didn't go to the Somewhere Else. He peeled off and skulked through Louth until he was out of sight of any of the hunters. The Temple was on the outskirts of Louth, but luckily there wasn't that much town so it didn't take him long to get there.

Like most Temples it was open to the weather. There was an enclosed building at one end, where the Deacon lived and where people who needed privacy could speak with him, but the rest of it was soft green grass and fruit trees, partially enclosed by three rough stone walls. Wooden benches were placed in the grass, surrounded by wildflowers and the buzz of bees. Most honey came from the Temples, each had as many hives as it could sustain, and the bees never stung anyone who came to them with an honest heart.

He found the Deacon—because even if Steve could call a man of the Temple _Sam_ , Bucky really couldn't—sitting in the sun, head bowed, in deep green sleeveless robes, arms muscled like one of the hunters. He lifted his head and for a single endless moment he was haloed in golden light and pale wings, birds taking flight behind him as Bucky approached. He was ethereal, like the gods above had reached out and laid their hands on him.

Bucky swallowed hard, faltering to a stop.

Then the Deacon stood and grinned, and the world was normal once more. "Be welcome and be at peace. How are you, Bucky?"

"Fine. Steve said I should come and talk to you?"

"Well, then you'd better sit down." The Deacon sat back down and patted the bench. "Tell me how I can help."

"I don't know if you can." Bucky sat next to him. "I need to know." He stopped, started again. "Can you get information from the Temple in Kyden?"

"Kyden, Kyden, that's a fair ways down the train line, right?" Bucky nodded. "It's theoretically possible. Whether it's actually possible would depend on what you wanted to know and why you wanted to know it."

"I just need to know if some people are still there, or if they moved away, and if they moved away, if they got somewhere safe."

Sam hummed and when he spoke there was no judgement in his voice. "I won't help you spy on someone. If there's someone who wants you out of their life, you need to respect that. I can help you move on, but I can't—"

"No!" Bucky blurted. "It's not, it's my mother and my sister." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Whatever I tell you, you can't tell anyone else, right?"

"It's not quite as simple as that, but as long as no one's in danger, then yes, I hold what people tell me under the confidence of the gods."

"Okay. I indentured myself to Hydra in exchange for the money to let them get out of Kyden. The town was dying and I couldn’t let them die with it. But I don't want them to know what I did, to know what I'm doing. I just need to know they're okay."

"Ah." Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That's a little different than what I was picturing."

"Yeah, I'm not hunting someone who's trying to get rid of me or anything like that."

"Mmm." He could tell Sam was thinking about it. "Okay. I'll see what I can find out. But I want something in exchange."

"I thought you were supposed to help people, not barter for favours."

"Help can have a complex definition." Bucky snorted softly. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. What I want is for you to think about whether your family loves you because of what you do or because of who you are."  

Bucky blinked at him. "That's not really a favour."

"No it's not." The Deacon's smile was gentle. "Because you're right. I don't barter the help someone needs for favours. I'll find out what I can."

Bucky sagged as tight muscles uncoiled. "Thank you."

"Sit quietly if you like. Take the time to be still. Talk to the gods above. No one's going to disturb you."

"No, I should go. The others will be looking for me."

He nodded as Bucky stood. "All right. But remember you're always welcome here."

He could feel the Deacon watching him as he left the Temple. He wasn't going to get his hopes up, but his steps as he hurried back to Louth were a little lighter.

 

* * *

 

Bucky arrived at Steve's camp one evening and he seemed easier, like some of the tension he'd been carrying had been lifted off him. Steve didn't ask any questions. Bucky would tell him or not. Steve wouldn't push him.

He disappeared into the van and came out a few minutes later with two mugs of tea, one of which he handed to Steve, and then he half-curled next to him—not touching, he rarely touched, and Steve was careful not to touch him; he'd learned by now that Bucky didn't like it—but close enough Steve could feel his warmth.

They sat, talking idly about nothing important, until Bucky said, out of the blue, "You were right."

"About what?"

"The Deacon."

He knew instantly what Bucky meant. "You went to him about your family."

"I did. And he helped. Got word from the Temple where we used to live. I got the news today. I don't know exactly where they are, but I know they're safe."

Carefully, gently, Steve asked, "Are you okay with that?"

"I'm the one who made the choice to go and not tell them where I was going. They know I'm working for Hydra, but Hydra's a lot more than hunting. I could be anywhere. That's on me, so if I don't know exactly where they are, I don't really get to complain, do I?" His smile was small and a little fragile, but it seemed genuine. "It's enough to know they're safe."

"Then I'm glad, Bucky."

Bucky tilted his head. His hair was getting long now, falling over his face, and he was so close, closer than they'd ever been. Steve's heart gave a tiny thump and his fingers itched to brush Bucky's hair back, to linger against his skin. "Me too. Thanks, Steve."

"Anytime."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for an unwelcome sexual advance and minor non-consensual touching. More detail in the end notes.

Five months ago, if someone had asked if Bucky would come to to enjoy this life, he'd have laughed himself silly. This was something to be endured. Something to get through, payment for the lump sum Brock had paid, _Hydra_ had paid, to get his mother and Becca out of Kyden. He was an indentured virgin who helped kill unicorns. No one could enjoy that.

But here it was, the first month of winter, according to Brock the year's hunting was almost over, and he felt like maybe he wouldn't laugh so hard if someone asked him that question. The killing wasn't something he'd ever enjoy, he was always glad when it was over, but calling unicorns for the hunt was something he'd learned he could do.

Outside of the hunting, there were parts of this life that weren't bad. Being indentured still lodged in his gut if he thought about it too hard, but it hadn't been used against him, and there was a simplicity to life out here. Bucky wondered if the hunters' allergy to being indoors was contagious. Given the choice now, even as it was getting colder, he stayed outside. The sun, the wind, the trees swaying overhead, they held their own quiet peace. It was even better if he had Steve beside him, the two of them talking or sitting quietly. He could be _quiet_ with Steve. Relaxed. Calm and still.

Steve was the one absolutely good part of this life.

Bucky took a sip of ale and laughed under his breath, wondering what Steve would think if he could hear the inside of Bucky's head. What was it Steve had said? I like talking to you, but you're not up against a lot of competition? Steve wasn't up against a lot of competition either, but that wasn't why Bucky liked him. Being with Steve made him happy in a way he couldn’t ever remember feeling.

Not a thought he'd be sharing with anyone anytime soon.

 _Idiot. You're an idiot, you know that?_ He did know that. He was lucky Steve spent time with him at all. 

A cool breeze swirled through his hair, tugging strands out of the leather tie he'd started using to keep it pulled back, and Bucky idly pushed them behind his ear as he stared out at the street from his usual spot on the verandah of the Somewhere Else. It was quiet today, not many people in the pub, not many people out and about. A wagon loaded with grain sacks rolled past, pulled by a pair of half-dozing horses, the driver not faring any better. It was that kind of day, the air cold but far too muggy for this time of year.

He was zoning out, idly rolling his ale bottle between his hands, when a short, stocky man with round glasses sat down at the table next to his. Bucky glanced over, inadvertently met his eyes, and the man said, "Hello."

Bucky sighed internally, but nodded and said, "Hi," in response.

"It's humid today, isn't it? Do you think there'll be a storm?"

"Could be."

The man nodded, then offered his hand. "Arnim Zola. I'm passing through town."

Bucky didn't want to shake his hand, but he couldn't see a way out of it that wouldn't draw more attention than refusing would avoid. "James Barnes." The man's short stubby fingers were warm and sweaty despite the cool day, his handshake lingering uncomfortably. Bucky pulled his hand away and resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his pants.

"Barnes, Barnes," the man mused. "You work for Hydra's hunters, correct?"

"Why?"

"I have a business proposition to offer you, one that would leave you much better off than the one you currently have."

Since the one Bucky currently had was an indenture, whatever it was he couldn't accept. "And what's that?"

"I want to buy what you're currently selling to Hydra for myself."

Bucky frowned, trying to figure out what he was talking about, then shook his head. "I have no idea what that means."

Arnim smiled, small and neat. The clouds drifted and a ray of sunlight reflected off his glasses, turning them opaque, hiding his eyes. Bucky felt cold fingers trail down his spine. "It's very simple. I wish to give you a large sum of money for the right to make you no longer a virgin." The cold fingers latched onto Bucky's heart and he went still. Arnim cocked his head. "You seem surprised. Has no one ever made you an offer like that?"

Bucky slowly shook his head, feeling the old greasy nausea rising in his gut, uneasiness settling beside it.

"That's surprising. I would have thought someone would have been here before me." Smug pleasure filled his face, his voice. "That would make me the first in more than one respect."

"Is it common?" Bucky felt as if his words were coming from a long way away, and why was he even asking. _Why was he asking?_ "People paying for it?"

"Not...common, no, but there are more than a few of us around. We're connoisseurs, you see, and you're very appealing." 

Cold pooled in his gut. There'd been an alternative to the hunters after all. He just hadn't known about it. What if he had? What if he hadn't overheard that talk in the pub? What if he'd heard about someone like Arnim first, offering the money he needed to get his family somewhere better?

He shoved the thought away, but he'd been silent too long.

"You see? It's an attractive offer. Right now you live in squalor out in the woods, paid what I'm sure is a pittance for something I value very highly. I will give you a great deal of money for one night of work." Short, stubby fingers reached out—Bucky was frozen, he couldn’t move, his arm felt strapped in place—and stroked his left hand. They were hot and soft, like slugs left too long in the sun. Arnim licked his lips. "You wouldn’t even need to do the work."

Bucky's skin wanted to crawl off his body. He willed his hand to move, to shake off the touch, but it didn't seem to be under his control.

And then it didn't matter.

"Barnes." Brock's voice was a growl. Arnim snatched his hand away like Bucky was on fire. "Zola. I've warned you about staying away from my people. I warned you what would happen after the last one."

"I was merely having a delightful conversation with young Barnes here."

"I know. I've been listening to your _delightful conversation_. And if you don't leave in the next thirteen seconds I'm going to pull your spine out through your nose."

Bucky watched Arnim scurry away like a frightened rabbit, but however scared he was of Brock he found the courage to give Bucky a last, lingering look.

Brock dropped into the chair he'd vacated. His eyes were dark, dangerous. "You do what you want when your year's up, but until then, you belong to Hydra. You stay a virgin." Bucky wanted to protest, to say he'd never, ever agree to anything Arnim had been offering, but Brock didn't look like he wanted to hear it. "But I'll give you some free advice. If you decide that's the way you want to go? Don't sell yourself to Zola. You'll regret it. There's something not right about him."

Bucky didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

"Okay. Let's go. The others are waiting."

 

* * *

 

He rode back to camp in silence. When he hopped out of the ute, Brock said, "There's gonna be some changes." Bucky was too exhausted to worry about what it meant, so he nodded again and went to his van to grab a change of clothes.

The short shower their Device supported wasn't enough to wash away the touch or the memory. That night, as he lay on top of his bed, it kept replaying. Without thinking too hard about what he was doing, he crept out of the van, snuck out of camp, and made his way through the darkened preserve.

It was a path he knew well.

 

* * *

 

Steve was sitting on the grass, hemming a pair of pants, the light on his van turning the dark as bright as day, when a noise drew his attention. He looked up in surprise to see Bucky.

"Can I sit with you? I know it's late, I probably shouldn’t have come. I—"

Steve cut him off. "Bucky. Sit. You can visit whenever you want, day or night. If I'm not here, make yourself comfortable 'til I get back. Okay?"

He gave a jerky nod, face strangely blank, and Steve patted the grass. Bucky sat, gave him a fleeting, uncertain look then shifted closer. It was tentative, but he kept moving until he was pressed shoulder to shoulder with Steve. Surprise flashed through Steve but he didn't react. He held himself relaxed and easy where they were touching.

Where Bucky was touching him.

"Everything okay, Bucky?" It was pretty clearly not okay, since Bucky didn't do this. He didn't touch Steve, not unless they were on Steve's bike and he didn't have a choice. Bucky nodded once and held himself stiffly, like he was trying not to touch at the same time he desperately wanted to. "Okay."

Steve went back to hemming, neat even stitches, humming softly under his breath, and Bucky slowly began to unwind beside him. He tried to focus on being calm and quiet, a rock for Bucky to lean on, while competing emotions battled inside him.

Whatever had put that look on Bucky's face, he wanted to destroy it, send it back to the gods above to judge and toss into the pits of damnation. But whatever it was, Bucky had come to him to feel better, maybe to feel safe, and that was doing things to his heart. Warm, soft, stupid things. Warm, soft, stupid things he had to ignore, along with the anger.

Bucky didn't need any of that. Bucky needed him to be quiet and calm and safe, so that's what he'd be.

 

* * *

 

Bucky didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know what had possessed him. He didn't know why he _wanted_ this. He didn't touch people, it wasn't safe, he'd figured that out years ago, because touching people led to misunderstandings and disappointment and expectations he could never, ever meet.

He sure as shit shouldn’t want this after what had happened at the pub, but he couldn't stop himself from shuffling over until his shoulder was touching Steve's, until Steve's warmth was part of him. It was a strange feeling to want to pull away at the same time he wanted to shove himself right up against Steve, to let Steve's clean warmth wash away the lingering slime of Arnim. He knew, he _knew,_ if he asked, Steve would put an arm around him, that Steve wouldn’t bat an eyelid if Bucky burrowed into his side, but he didn't want that. He just wanted to feel the solid strength of Steve, the cleanness of him, and know it was there for him.

Slowly the tight knot of anger and disgust and uneasiness let go—and he didn't know why it'd unsettled him so much; there'd been nothing Arnim could have done to him, could have made him do, but he breathed more easily, let himself rest a little more against Steve. Let out a small breath that wasn't quite a sigh.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Steve asked.

"Shit no."

"You want to just keep sitting there?"

Bucky nodded.

"Works for me."

And it was so Steve he had to smile. This was why he'd come here, because he'd known Steve would just let him be. "Thanks," he said softly and, gently, tentatively nudged Steve's shoulder with his own.

Steve turned his head to smile at him and, just as gently, nudged him back. "Anytime, Bucky."

 

* * *

 

Steve walked him back to camp. Bucky told him he didn't have to, but Steve simply waited, patient and implacable, and Bucky gave in. They were silent, walking the path Bucky knew well, Steve by his side.

It was late, late enough Bucky wasn't expecting anyone to be up, but Brock was sitting outside his van, talking to Wanda, and he watched through narrowed eyes as Bucky walked into camp with Steve beside him.

Quickly weighing up his options, Bucky went with: ignore him. "Thanks."

Steve seemed willing to take his cue from Bucky, and didn't acknowledge Brock. "Sleep well."

"You, too." They stood looking at each other, then Steve's mouth quirked and Bucky ducked his head, then turned and made his way to his van. When he opened the door he glanced back and Steve was watching him, hands in his pockets. He lifted a hand in a wave that Steve returned and then shut the door.

 

* * *

 

Bucky slept well, the single bad dream that tried to visit chased away by a lingering remnant of solid warmth. He woke up in a good mood.

It lasted right up until Brock took him aside, the two of them sitting in the makeshift office outside Brock's van. He could tell by Brock's expression he wasn't going to like whatever was coming.

"I told you there were going to be some changes."

"You did," Bucky replied cautiously.

"New rule one, you don't go anywhere without one of us. New rule two," Brock paused and Bucky braced himself, "I had Wanda make a mage-lock for your van. It opens to me and me alone. From now on, I'm locking you in at night."

Bucky went rigid with sudden anger, but he held onto it. "Why?"

"Because you're a valuable asset to Hydra and it's my job to protect Hydra's assets. I should have been doing this all along, but I didn't, and that's on me. If I had, you wouldn’t have had a run in with Zola yesterday."

Maybe if he _had_ been doing it all along Bucky wouldn’t be so angry. It would have gone hand in hand with how he'd expected to be treated. But Brock had never treated him like an Indenture. To have it imposed now, when he'd proven he was trustworthy, because of something someone else had done, without even giving asking a shot, asking him to say in at night, asking him to stay with one of the hunters when they were in town, was unfair. He'd probably have been willing to do it if Brock had _asked_.

"I've done everything I'm supposed to do. I've never done anything wrong." Anger was leaking into his voice. "I've," he almost said _made friends with the Warden_ , but the thought of using whatever he had with Steve that way twisted in his gut, "I've _never_ done anything wrong."

"I know. But this isn't about you. This is about Hydra. And it's about all the assholes out there in the world." Brock leaned forward. "And it's not a negotiation. You're indentured. I can do what I want with you and what I want is to make sure Hydra's money isn't wasted. This is happening." Brock stood. "Stay here, take however long you need to get used to it. Wanda's putting the lock on your van right now. I'm going to make sure she's doing it right." 

 

* * *

 

Bucky didn't come back.

Steve wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, but Bucky didn't come back.

He thought about going down to Hydra's camp, to say hi, to make sure everything was all right, but he made himself stop and think. Bucky hadn't come back. There had to be a reason for that, and he probably wouldn't thank Steve for showing up uninvited.

He wracked his brain, trying to work out what he could have done. But maybe it wasn't him. Steve knew Bucky didn't touch people and he'd leaned all over Steve last time they'd been together. Maybe that was why?

Steve had no idea. But he wasn't going to chase after Bucky, wasn't going to risk doing anything that would make him uncomfortable.

He could wait.

And besides, the last hunt of the year was coming up. They'd both be there. If Steve hadn't seen Bucky by then, he'd talk to him at the hunt, maybe subtly try to find out if he _had_ done something wrong, maybe seeing if he could fix it, whatever it was. 

 

* * *

 

Bucky missed Steve, and he was angry about having to be escorted, he was furious about being locked up at night, but he was doing his best not to let it show. He had no idea how to make Brock reverse the new rules, but he knew blowing up wasn't going to do it.  

For the first time ever he was looking forward to a hunt. It would mean he'd get a chance to see Steve again.

He was sitting on a fallen log, surrounded by the five unicorns Brock had chosen to survive, staring up at the sky where storm clouds were gathering in deceptively fluffy piles, when footsteps made him turn.

It was Steve. He stopped, eyes searching Bucky's face.

"Steve." It was all Bucky said, because when he heard the wistfulness in his voice he shut up.

"I—" Steve kicked a rock gently, watched it bounce across the dirt. "You haven't come around in a couple of weeks."

"I know."

"Did I do something wrong?"

Bucky scrambled to his feet, hurrying to stand in front of Steve, and the unicorns followed, forming a half-circle with Steve and Bucky at their centre. "No! No, things have been," and he stopped, because if he told Steve about Brock's new rules he couldn't imagine his reaction. Worse, he _could_. It would be...spectacular. But it would mean telling him about the indenture. And he didn't want to. He just didn't want to. But he could _not_ let Steve think he'd done something wrong. Steve had given him peace and warmth and, and safety after his weird reaction to Zola. "Have you been thinking that all this time?"

Steve shrugged and Bucky's mouth flattened. "Steve. No. It's just, with the last hunt and everything." _Shit. I can't lie to him._ It was an unfortunately timed revelation. "I haven't been able to get away. I've wanted to, I promise, I've wanted to. It's nothing you did. I swear. Okay?"

Steve was perking up, head tilted a little as he snuck a glance at Bucky. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." He put every ounce of certainty he'd ever felt into it and then touched Steve's forearm. Fleeting, but his fingers curled around strong muscle and Steve's eyes warmed, like he understood what that meant to Bucky.

"Okay. Wait here." Bucky didn't have time to reply, because Steve had whirled, eased out through the unicorns, and was running back to his bike. He trotted back a few minutes later carrying a cloth bag. "I was prepared to use these as a bribe if I needed to," he said as he opened the bag and pulled out...

"Cookies," Bucky said, fighting back a smile.

"Yeah." Steve held one out and Bucky took it. Sniffed it, nose filling with the scent of cinnamon and butter. He nibbled the edge and it was as good as he remembered.

"I think these are magic."

"Cookie magic?"

"Why not?" Bucky took a big bite, closing his eyes to savour it. When he was done, he opened them to find Steve watching him with amusement and something else, something he didn't quite have a word for, but it had shades of fondness and warmth. "We've got all kinds of magic, so why not cookie magic?"

"I promise, I'm completely magically null, Buck. Any magic in these cookies, it's not coming from me."

"So you say."

"Eat your cookie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zola offers Bucky money to be the allowed to be first person to have sex with him and also touches him on the hand without his consent. Bucky is very freaked out/disturbed/disgusted by the whole encounter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slightly bloodier unicorn death in this chapter (although the death is not 'on screen', just the blood). See end notes for details.

Bucky had found a patch of warm noon sun to sit in while he read a book Steve had loaned him before Brock had locked him down. He'd read it before and he'd probably read it again. Most of the hunters had gone to town to deliver yesterday's hunt to the train station, but most wasn't all so there was no chance he could sneak off and see Steve.

Maybe he could ask Steve to come here? 

There was a rush of noise as the hunters returned and not long after Brock appeared, blocking his light. "Barnes, pack your shit. We're taking a trip."

"Where are we going?" He didn't look up from his book. He might be concealing his anger, but that didn't mean he had to pretend to be happy.

"Train station. Another Hydra company lost their virgin and they need you. So we're loaning you out."

Brock's words hit him like a sack of bricks. He did not want to go. He was angry at Brock, but he did _not_ want to leave. Steve was here. He knew how things worked here, he knew everyone, knew their little quirks. He didn't want to be passed to an entirely new company of hunters. His hands tightened on his book. It didn't matter what he wanted. He finally lifted his head to look at Brock. Who sighed. "Fuck's sake, I'm not loaning you out forever. It's one hunt. We'll be gone two nights. You're worth your weight in gold and if they think they're getting their hands on you... That's not happening. So if you're finished being precious, go pack."

The relief nearly made him drop his book. 

He threw what he'd need into a pack and met Brock at the ute. They didn't talk on the drive to the train and when they boarded Brock pointed him at the window seat, then slumped down in the aisle and immediately went to sleep. Bucky pulled out his book and kept reading.

 

* * *

 

They slept on the train overnight and it arrived in Lemmora as the sun was rising. Whoever was supposed to meet them wasn't there and Bucky could see Brock's temper building. When he finally showed up, pulling up in a rattling old ute, its Device flickering with a barely-there glow that Bucky worried meant they wouldn't make it anywhere, Brock told him to get in the back, pointed Bucky at the passenger seat, and got behind the wheel.

Bucky's impression of the hunting camp matched the ute: old and uncared for. It was a mess, no organisation he could see, junk everywhere. Judging by the curl of Brock's lip, he wasn't impressed.

"Rumlow," a tall woman with short, dark hair called.

"Simons," Brock replied, nodding once. "You ready for the hunt? We can't hang around here forever."

"Be ready in half an hour or so. This your virgin?" Her eyes were hungry as they drifted over Bucky. It wasn't sexual, Bucky knew what that looked like, but she wanted him; it felt like she was ready to pounce and drag him off.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Brock's hand closed around the back of his neck. For once he almost didn't mind, skin crawling less from Brock's touch than Simons' gaze. "Whose services we are kindly allowing you to use, so keep your damn eyes to yourself."

"You always were an asshole."

Brock smiled, showing all his teeth, and pulled Bucky away.

The hunt was like all the others. Bucky kept his eyes closed as the unicorns surrounded him, as the hunters pushed into the unicorns, as the familiar sounds drifted into the air.

The sudden spray of hot blood hitting his face made him choke. A hand closed on his shoulder, pulling him away.

"You okay?" Brock asked.

He was dripping blood, it was on his arms, his hands, had coated him from forehead to hip in a thick, red line, but he nodded.

"These fuckers are useless. Come on." Brock shoved him into one of the utes and drove him back to the camp. He stopped outside the shower block, pulled open the door, scoped it out, then pushed Bucky inside. "Shower. Then we're leaving."

Bucky was about to wipe the blood off but he stopped and stared at his hands, his clothes. He was wearing who knew how many hundreds of gold. It was an uncomfortable thought, but it was a true one. The blood was already starting to dry and flake. He dug Steve's handkerchief out of his pocket, scraped as much blood off his face, his hands, his clothes into it as he could, then carefully folded it up and bundled it into his sock. Watching the rest swirl down the drain raised a pang.

His pack was waiting when he opened the door to the tiny stall. He dressed and found Brock tapping his foot impatiently outside.

The trip back was the same as the trip there, apart from the anxiety rippling under Bucky's skin. Brock pushed him in next to the window and dropped into the aisle seat, falling asleep in minutes. Bucky studied him out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to stare directly at him, afraid that might wake him up.

Finally, when he was absolutely certain Brock was as deeply asleep as he was going to get, he slowly shifted closer. Studying his shoulders, his chest. Looking closely, trying to find... There. On the side of his neck. A hair. There was no way he could touch Brock's skin. He'd wake up.

Gently breathing out, he watched as the hair vibrated, wiggled, then floated down to land on the seat. _Gift from the gods above._ He plucked it up and tucked it away safely in his pocket.

Unicorn blood and one of Brock's hairs. Now all he needed was someone to make a charm and he wouldn't be locked in anymore.

 

* * *

 

His chance came while the hunters were packing up the gear for winter, packing up their gear to leave, making lists of what needed to be repaired, replaced, ordered from headquarters. Arguing about whose job it was to do what.

The last hunt of the year had been conducted. No more herds would migrate through the preserve until spring. There were still unicorns who hadn't migrated away, down on the plains, up near the border, scattered through the hinterlands, but none of them migrated _through_ the preserve. No herds coming through the preserve meant no hunts. No hunts meant hunters with nothing to do.

Most of them would stay for the fire festival, to mark the longest night of the year, but then almost everyone would be gone.

In the chaos of off-season preparation, no one was paying attention to Bucky.

He slipped away and went to Steve.

 

* * *

 

"Steve?"

Steve put the axe down, leaning it against the garden fence, and kicked the chopped logs into a rough pile before he turned around. "Bucky." It was stupid how happy he was to see him. He had to get that under control. Setting himself up for heartbreak seemed like a bad idea. Maybe one day he'd even listen. "Everything okay?"

"Yes." Bucky made a face. "No." He huffed. "Maybe?"

"Covering the gamut, there," he teased. "I admire a man who doesn't take any chances."

"I need," Steve found himself on the end of a very careful look, "I need to ask a favour, but I'm not sure if..."

"If we're the kind of guys who do favours for each other?"

"Yeah," Bucky said on a sigh of relief. "Yeah, that, exactly."

"We are," he said easily. "We definitely are. Not to come across all mushy or overly-sentimental or anything, but I think you might not have noticed." Steve leaned forward, glanced sideways in a conspiratorial fashion, then beckoned Bucky closer. Bucky, with an uncertain look around of his own, walked over, and Steve whispered, "We're friends."

Bucky snorted and straightened. "You're a jerk."

"Hey, I'm not the one who couldn't figure out we were friends." Something vulnerable flickered across Bucky's face and Steve's expression softened. He stretched, loosening tight muscles, then sat down on the grass and patted the space next to him. "Sit down and tell me what you need? No judgement and whatever I can do for you, I'll do."

Gracefully, Bucky sank down to sit next to him, his knee brushing Steve's. Steve focused what was probably an inappropriate amount of attention on the touch, because he knew, he'd learned, how much Bucky's touch meant. Those touches, however small, made his heart swoop, because casual touches from Bucky were anything but.

"I need to know this isn't going to get back to Brock."

"Bucky, anything you tell me, I'm keeping it to myself. What do you need?"

"Brock locks me in at night with a mage-lock keyed to him. I can't get out unless he lets me out."

Anger roared through him, but he kept it under control. "Why," he was amazed at how calm he sounded, "does he lock you in at night?"

"For my own protection, apparently." Bucky hesitated. "You remember when I showed up and didn't want to talk about it?"

"When you decided to use me as a leaning post?" Bucky ducked his head, but Steve smiled gently. "Yeah, I remember." It was permanently etched in his memory.

"There was a guy in the pub, apparently he has a history of," here Bucky paused and Steve knew he was choosing his words with care, "wanting to sleep with Hydra's virgins. And he wasn't the most pleasant guy I've ever come across."

"That's why you were so upset." The anger from that night was ticking back.

"Yeah." Bucky's eyes were shuttered. There was something else he wasn't saying, but Steve wasn't going to push. "So Rumlow decided the best way to keep me a virgin is to keep me in at nights. Like I'm a cat."

"He can't do that."

"Yes, he can."

"Bucky, no, he can't." He'd kill Rumlow. It'd be easy. "I don't know what he's told you, but—"

Bucky cut him off. "Steve. I'm indentured."

Steve stared at him, knocked completely off balance.

"So Brock can do just about anything he wants, including lock me in at night. Brock can forbid me to go anywhere unless someone from Hydra's with me, and he has. But I can't stand it. If he'd asked me, I'd have said yes, probably, but he didn't. He didn't trust me, he didn't ask me, and what happened with that asshole wasn't my fault. I know I'm asking a lot. I'm asking you to... Shit."

"Bucky?"

"I can't ask you."

"You can ask me anything."

"Not this."

"Bucky, you can ask me for anything. If I can help, I will." There was something vulnerable about the way Bucky was watching him, doubt in his eyes. Steve wanted to reach out and pull him into a hug. For all that Bucky had started to touch him, he knew how well that would go over, and it would be the fastest way to wipe out the trust Bucky had shown. "Ask."

Steve wasn't sure Bucky was going to, but then he took a deep breath and dug in his pocket to pull out a vial of red powder. Steve's eyes widened as he realised what it was. "I didn't steal it. I scraped it off my skin, it was going to go down the drain. I need a charm, one that'll make the lock think I'm Brock. One of his hairs is in here. I won't be able to get near a magic user, but you can. Except." His fingers tightened around the vial. "Except helping an Indenture like this...technically I'm asking you to break the law."

Steve snorted. "Is that all?" He held out his hand. "Breaking the law's not the same as doing the wrong thing, and not helping you would be doing the wrong thing. I'll get you your charm."

Bucky dropped the vial into Steve's hand. "Thank you." He hesitated, then folded Steve's fingers around the glass. "I don't know when I'll be able to get away again."

"Don't worry about it. I'll find a way to get it to you."

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Steve wandered casually into camp. It was still busy, but the chaos was controlled and a few hunters had already left. "Just checking up on things, making sure everything's okay, what with the hunt season over."

Rumlow ground his teeth, but Bucky guessed Wardens were allowed things like this, because Brock didn't stop him. Just glared at him from a distance. Bucky stayed where he was, sitting on the steps of his van.

When Steve's meandering path, poking into this and that, led him to Bucky, he stopped and leaned on Bucky's van. "Bucky. How are you?"

Incredibly happy to see Steve. Not stupid enough to say it. "Fine."

"I'm heading into town later. Anything you need?"

"No, I'm good."

"Good." They stopped talking and stood in silence for a few minutes, then Steve straightened. "Okay, well, I'll see you later." He held out his arms. Bucky hesitated, torn. Hugging was a gigantic step beyond the small touches he'd grown comfortable giving Steve, but he knew Steve had a reason and what that reason would be. There was also a small part of him saying: _it's fine, it's Steve_. He stood and stepped into Steve's arms, hugging him. Steve closed his arms around Bucky, and Bucky felt Steve slip his hand into his front pocket on the side hidden from view. He stiffened, pulling away, but Steve held onto him and whispered in his ear, "It's what you wanted."

Of course it was. Bucky hugged him for real, squeezed him tight, and felt Steve's surprise before he stepped back. "See you, Bucky."

"Bye, Steve."

"Rumlow," Steve said as he walked out.

Brock grunted in response, but he was watching Bucky. Bucky's heart started pounding as Brock sauntered over. He couldn't possibly have seen. But Brock looked him up and down and said, low voiced, "Remember: you signed on for a year, so don't go getting any ideas."

"I'm not. I wouldn't. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Brock tilted his head back and forth, considering. "Maybe I should be having this talk with the Warden."

He ground his teeth together. "He's my friend. Okay? That's it. I've barely seen him since _someone_ decided to keep me locked up and not let me out without an escort. And it's not like any of you were lining up to fill the position." Brock snorted. "I miss him, so I gave him a hug. Last time I checked hugging someone wasn't a secret signal you wanted to have sex with them. Which I don't and even if I did, I wouldn't, because I agreed to be your virgin!"

Brock shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels, grinning a little. "Shit, Barnes. I didn't know you had it in you. I'm impressed."

Bucky growled at him and stomped up the stairs to his van, shoving the door shut behind him. As soon as it was closed, he leaned against it, heart still pounding. Hopefully the rant had distracted Rumlow, because what Steve had slipped him felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

He pulled out the bundle of cloth and unwrapped the tiny charm. It was simple, gold and silver wires twisted in a circle, a tiny sliver of what could be glass, could be crystal, set in one end. It had a faint reddish tint. He closed his hand around it then tucked it away with his socks. It didn't actually matter where he hid it. If he got caught, they'd find it.

So he wouldn't get caught.

 

* * *

 

Steve was sitting on the log, a sweater his only concession to the fact that it was winter, reading in the light from the van, when he looked up to see Bucky making his way across the camp towards him. He set his book face down on his thigh. "This is what you're using your freedom for?" he asked, as if he hadn't been waiting, hoping Bucky would show up.

Bucky plonked down to sit at Steve's feet. "Where else am I going to go?"

"I don't know, I somehow imagined you had grander plans than this."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to go where I'm happy," he muttered. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

It sent a surge of warmth through him, through his heart. _Shit._ He fought to keep his smile normal, to keep the affection out of his voice. "Okay, I won't. I'll just ask if you're going to the fire festival tomorrow."

"Only if I go with the hunters." Bucky made a face. "And okay, they wouldn't be my first choice, I'd rather go on my own, but normally I wouldn't mind that much. But I _don't_ want to go with them, I'm _not_ going to go with them, because I _have_ to, because I don't have a choice. I know that probably sounds stupid."

"Not even a little bit." Steve weighed it up. "Come spend it with me."

"You're not going?"

"Not if you want to break out and come over." He'd been to the festival every year since he'd arrived; he'd happily skip a year for Bucky's sake. "You shouldn't have to spend it alone. And hey, I've got a fire," he pointed at the pit, "take away all the celebrations and that's the point of the festival. To light a fire to stand against the longest night of the year. We can do that." 

"In Kyden we used to hang lanterns outside our front doors. They'd burn from dusk to dawn."

"We can do that, too. I'm pretty sure I can get my hands on a lantern."

Bucky was looking up at him, soft and open. "Thank you." It was all Steve could do not to reach out for him.

"You're welcome."

They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, then Steve held up his book. "Want me to read to you?"

"You want to read to me?"

"Yeah, read to you." He put a hint of challenge in his voice. "Come on, come sit next to me and I'll spin you a tale of mystery and wonder."

"You won't spin the tale. Whoever wrote the book will, you're just going to read it. Stop trying to take credit for other people's hard work." Bucky was grinning as he moved to sit next to Steve, leaning back against the fallen log, his shoulder barely brushing Steve's thigh. "You have to start at the beginning."

"I can do that."

 

* * *

 

The next morning at breakfast Bucky caught Wanda giving him a deep considering look. He went cold all over, fingers gripping the edge of the table, wondering if she knew. Could she tell when the lock was opened? Did she know he'd found a way through it?

After a long minute, she went back to eating, and he breathed out, released his death grip on the table. No one else had noticed, they were too distracted talking about the fire festival, so everything was fine. Whatever that had been, it was fine.

 

* * *

 

That evening, when everyone else had abandoned the camp for town and the festival, Bucky used his charm to walk through the lock and went to Steve's.

At dusk they lit the fire and watched it blaze against the darkening sky. Steve handed Bucky a glass and copper lantern, with a reserve of oil that would let it burn well into the morning. The touch of Kyden made him think of his mother, of his sister. He missed them, but he had to believe they were safe.

He lit the lantern and Steve hung it outside the van, then they sat together by the fire, talking quietly and sharing the festival's traditional bottle of honey mead. The world grew warm and fuzzy around the edges, but Steve was a constant solid point of strength beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hunters Bucky is loaned out to are bad at their jobs and Bucky gets sprayed with unicorn blood. His eyes are closed when it happens so the death isn't on screen, just the spray of blood coating Bucky.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for non-explicit/implied discussion of a sexual assault that could have occurred, if not for certain actions that were taken. Detail in the end notes.

They were deep in the heart of winter, but winter never brought snow or frost this close to the Pindar border, and this year had been particularly mild. There'd barely even been any rain. The camp was quiet, almost everyone gone for the off-season. The cook had stayed, but he was working down at one of the pubs in town, so he was barely around, left meals in the cold box anyone could grab when they got hungry. Elsie and Jasmine were technically still here, but they were off together, mapping the hinterlands behind the preserve, so Bucky never saw them.

And of course Brock had stayed. Bucky was beginning to think Brock never left. That he would never leave, that he might have been born here and he'd certainly die here. The way he was talking while he and Bucky went through the past year's hunting records wasn't doing anything to change his mind.

He couldn't work out how he'd gotten roped into helping Brock in the first place. He hadn't volunteered. Somehow Brock's grunted, "Here, double check the counting on this, will you? Rollins can't keep records for shit," and Brock shoving a handful of papers under his nose while Bucky had been peacefully day-dreaming in a patch of sunlight had turned into this.

Whatever this was. Sitting in Brock's make-shift office, which was a mess of weapons and old gear and papers, listening to a lecture on the history of the preserve.

"When they set this one up, whoever put it here was on our side." It took Bucky a second or two to realise when Brock said 'our side' he meant _hunters_ , he meant _Hydra_ , that he was looking back at an unknown official from a hundred years ago and calling him an ally. "Because this preserve is right on dozens of unicorn migration routes. Look, I'll show you."

Brock stood up and fished around in a pile of papers, pulled out an old map, brown around the edges, and unrolled it. "Here, see? This is us." He pointed to a red outline, then traced lines through it. "The same herds take the same routes, year in year out, and they keep coming most of the year, first going one way, then going the other. They stop here to eat and rest, depending on the time of year, to breed or foal. Have done for a lot longer than a hundred years." He rolled up the map and stowed it away. "And Hydra's had the permit for this preserve since it was a preserve. It's why our unicorns are so profitable."

"What do you mean?"

"We breed for it, breed for them to be bigger, stronger. That's why we notch their ears, so we can keep track of who we've seen in what year, that's why we never touch the foals or pregnant mares, why we always take the sick ones, the weak ones. It means we only leave the strongest. We only want the best ones breeding."

Everything snapped into place. "That’s what you meant by herd management."

"What did you think I meant?" Bucky didn't have an answer. Brock grunted. "If you really want to learn, help me with the paperwork."

Bucky looked at the papers, the piles of tally sheets, shipping receipts, log books, records he didn't even know what they were, and thought about it. "Do I have to?"

"I'm not gonna make you, if that's what you're asking. Wouldn't be much point, because you could just screw it all up and I'd have to figure out what you did and then redo it myself and I don't have time for that. These records have to be ready by next week."

His first inclination was to say no, because he wasn't all that interested in making Brock's life easier. But he was interested despite himself in what he'd been saying about unicorns. "I'll help," he said, then added pointedly, "It's not like there's anything else to do, since I'm not allowed out on my own."

"I'm not gonna apologise for that. It was the right decision, so don't even bother. Come on." Brock gathered everything up. "We can work in the meal hall."

 

* * *

 

That night when he went to visit Steve he flopped down next to the fire and almost put his head on Steve's shoulder. He didn't, but he wanted to. Instead he let it roll back against the log. "My brain hurts."

"Problem?" Steve didn't do a very good job of looking or sounding sympathetic and Bucky made a face at him.

"Yes, you're refusing to be sympathetic to my pain."

"There, there?" Steve offered and laughed when Bucky chucked a stick at him. "What's wrong with your brain?" There was a beat of silence and he added, "Besides the obvious."

"Why do I sneak out at night to visit you again?"

"Because there's cookies in the van," Steve replied.

Bucky jumped to his feet and snagged two off the tray, then returned to sit next to Steve, handing him one while he nibbled the other. "There's nothing wrong with my brain, it's just full of more information than I thought there was to know about unicorns." Steve made an interested, go on sort of noise around his mouthful of cookie, so Bucky did. "I've been helping Brock with paperwork and my head is filled with numbers." He frowned thoughtfully at the ground. "I didn't know..."

"Didn't know what?"

"I didn't know they were so careful." He turned his head to find Steve watching him. "I knew it wasn't like I first thought, just killing everything, but Hydra's actually careful. They've got records going back decades and they're thinking of the next generation and the one after that and how to make them better, make sure there's more of them, and I didn't expect that. "

"Does that make it better?"  

Bucky frowned, thinking about it. "I think so. It'd be better if no one ever had to kill a unicorn, but..." He lifted one shoulder and Steve nodded. "And the way Hydra does it." He stopped, searching for the right words. "They do the least amount of harm they can." He looked up at Steve. "And that's all anyone can ask for, right?"

"I'm the wrong person to be asking that. That's more of a Sam question, but if they really care about that, about doing as little harm as they can, I feel like that has to be a good thing."

He studied Steve's face, open and kind, and a feeling he didn't quite recognise drifted through him and slipped out in words he didn't mean to say. "I'm glad I met you." Surprise bloomed on Steve's face and Bucky wanted to snatch them back because they were so stupid, people didn't _say_ things like that, but Steve smiled, warm and bright, and his eyes were soft.

"Me too, Buck. Me too."

 

* * *

 

Brock was stomping around like an angry unicorn, getting ready for the high-ups in Hydra who were arriving today to look over the operation. It was why he'd been fighting with the paperwork last week, but Bucky was peacefully eating breakfast, because it wasn't his problem.

"Are you still friends with the Warden?" Brock asked, suddenly appearing in front of him.

He froze. Did Brock know? He'd been careful, he was so sure he'd been careful enough, but if Brock knew he could get through the lock... "What do you mean?"

"It's a simple question. Are you still friends with the Warden?"

"Uh, yeah. I am."

"Today might be a good day for you to pay him a visit. For the whole day."

"Why?"

Brock looked away, suddenly casual, giving every indication that he couldn't give a damn if Bucky lived or died, but he replied, "These guys that are coming down from Hydra to check out the operation. They're about as high up in Hydra as you can get. One of them, he's got a very specific reputation. You're an Indenture, you're _Hydra's_ Indenture, so it'd be better if he didn't see you." There was a beat of silence and he gave Bucky a sharp look. "Understand what I'm saying?"

"I think so." Cold nausea settled in his gut.

"Good. Don't come back until after dark."

"Right." Bucky stood and headed for his van. Stopped and said over his shoulder, "Thanks."

Brock snorted. "Don't go all sentimental on me, Barnes.  I just don't want the hassle of replacing you."

 

* * *

 

This _wasn't_ winter. Every year they called it winter and every year Steve wondered what they were talking about. There was no ice, no frost, and he wasn't sure anyone here had even heard of snow. Steve didn't need a fire, even if he'd light one for Bucky. The most he'd ever needed was a sweater.

So no, this wasn't winter. It was downtime, though. Downtime he wasn't sure what to do with. Just like every other year he was free to leave, the same as the hunters, but this year he didn't want to.

 _Come on, Steve. Be honest, at least with yourself._ He didn't want to leave Bucky. If Bucky hadn't been indentured—and he still had trouble wrapping his head around that—he might have asked if Bucky wanted to leave with him. They could go somewhere together, maybe not for his whole downtime, but for a couple of weeks. Get on a train, go wherever they wanted. But he was, and they couldn’t, Brock would never let him go, and Steve wasn't willing to leave him.

He laughed quietly at himself as he poked at the garden, because of all the damned things he'd expected to find out here, it sure hadn't been this.

"Something funny?"

He jumped and whirled, heart pounding, and clutched at his chest. "Gods above, Bucky. Don't do that."

Bucky grinned, pleased. "No, I think I'm gonna do that again. That was great."

Mouth open, ready to retaliate, Steve stopped. Frowned. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

A strange expression flitted over Bucky's face, leaving it closed off. Blank. Steve was instantly alert. "I've been told to spend the day with you. The whole day, if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay." Steve strode over to stand in front of him and didn't reach out to clasp his shoulder. "Rumlow told you to spend the day with me?"

"Yeah," he laughed, humourless and rough, and it hurt to hear, grinding against Steve's soul. "If you can believe it. There's some Hydra high-up coming to inspect the operation. Apparently he has a very specific reputation and, what with me being Hydra's Indenture, Brock said it'd be better if he didn't see me. So he sent me to you."

In that moment, Steve loved Rumlow. It was sudden and sharp but it was real and it came with vicious, tearing anger, because he understood exactly what Rumlow had been saying and he knew, from the look in Bucky's eyes, that Bucky did, too. "Good choice." It was a fight to keep his voice casual, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare Bucky and the fury that was frothing up in him was almost enough to scare _him_. "You know you're always safe here."

The look in Bucky's eyes, the sound of his voice, as he said, "I know," made him want to pull Bucky in, hide him in the circle of his arms, and never let go. Casual was gone and he didn't know how to get it back.

"If you want to stay, if you don't want to go back, you don't have to. I'll keep you here."

They were both breathing a little too fast and Steve's heart was trying to keep up. Bucky looked down, broke them out of it as he laughed, breathless. "Steve. Indentured, remember? Not going back's not an option. I'm theirs until my year's up. That's what Brock was worried about. If someone high-up in Hydra wanted me, decided to take me, there wouldn't be anything he could do about it."

"I'd come after you." It was low, hard, and he didn't know how to pull back from the edge of anger, he wanted to storm down to Hydra's camp, find the Hydra high-up, and put his fist through to the back of his skull.

"Steve." There was a touch, Bucky's hand against his chest, fingers pressing gently over his heart, and _there_ was calmness, _there_ was peace. Steve took a deep breath. "We're talking about something, getting worked up about something, that didn't happen, that's not going to happen, because I'm here, so," his hand fell, "let's focus on important things."

"Like what?"

"Like I've been here," he glanced up at the sky, then back at Steve, wearing a crooked smile, "for whole _minutes_ and I haven't been offered tea, I haven't been offered cookies. You, Warden Rogers, are a lousy host."

He gaped at Bucky, then let out a helpless laugh, everything that had built up in him draining away. Bucky was here, Bucky was safe. He didn't love Rumlow, the idea was ludicrous, but he was grateful. "Being a good host isn't in the Warden's rules."

"It should be."

Steve hesitated, trying to get the measure of where Bucky was, then held out his hand. Bucky stepped closer and Steve settled it on his shoulder. "I'll give you Warden Hill's address. You can send her a letter, let her know."

"Don't think I won't," Bucky murmured as Steve urged him into the van. He was calm under Steve's touch, relaxed and quiet, and Steve gently pushed him towards the bench at the little table. They didn't talk while Steve made tea, and he slid into the bench across from Bucky as he set two mugs down on the table.

"No cookies?"

"You're going to be here all day. You can make your own."

Bucky smiled into his mug as he drank his tea.

Steve turned his mug in a circle on the table. "I'd still keep you here if you didn't want to go back," he said quietly.

"Thank you." Bucky took another sip of his tea. "But I took Hydra's money, I made my mark in blood. And besides, Brock would come after me, and he'd bring the Guard." Steve snorted. Bucky eyed him. "I know you're a Warden, but—"

"I'm a little more than that." Bucky's eyes invited him to explain. "What do you think I did before I was a Warden?"

 "I—" Bucky stopped, so obviously lost for words Steve had to hide a smile.

"Did you think I sprang forth fully formed from one of these trees? Or maybe I was born from the river, rose up from the current to take human shape? Or maybe," Steve was warming to the topic, maybe a little too much, but Bucky's unimpressed face was delightful, "maybe I'm a unicorn, and I can change shapes—"

"Oh my gods above, Steve, shut up," Bucky groaned. Steve laughed at him. "Okay, okay, I never thought about it, I'm sorry. You weren't always a Warden. What were you, apart from destined to be a pain in my ass?"

"I was in the Guard." It didn't even hurt to say. He didn't regret what he'd done to lose it, and he liked the life it had brought him to. "Joined when I was seventeen."

"You were in the Guard," Bucky said cautiously.

"Mmmm."

"Why do I think there's more to it than that?"

"I knew you were smart." Bucky shot him a warning look. "I was Shield Corps." A few seconds ticked by and Bucky's eyes went wide.

"Shield Corps." Steve nodded and sipped his cooling tea. "The elite unit, the one that guards the royal family when they leave the capital." Steve nodded again. "You were Shield Corps." Steve didn't nod again, just looked at Bucky. "No wonder you're not worried about Brock." The corner of Steve's mouth twitched. Bucky pointed at him. "No."

"Yes, Bucky."

"Better. So how did you end up here?"

"I walked in from outside. Not sure how you don't remember, we were just standing out there." Bucky sighed and let his forehead drop to rest on the table with an audible thunk. Steve resisted the urge to reach across and ruffle his hair. Or run his fingers through it. "It was this or get tossed in prison. The Commander called in a ton of favours to save me."

Bucky lifted his head, staring in disbelief. "What did you _do_?"

"I disobeyed orders, I crossed over the border into Aramac, and I took a bunch of border guard with me."

Bucky's jaw dropped, then he closed his mouth and studied Steve. "Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters." Bucky planted his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hand. "I feel like I know you, at least a little. And you wouldn't have done any of that without a good reason. Breaking the law isn't the same as doing something wrong. You told me that. So tell me why you did it." He paused. "If you want to. You don't have to. You don't have to talk about it all. You don't have to tell me anything."

"I don't think there's much I'd mind telling you," he admitted, enjoying the way it warmed Bucky's eyes. "But it's my reason, so of course I think it's good. How about I tell you what happened and you can make up your own mind."

"If that's what you want, of course."

"My regiment—"

"Shield Corps."

"Shield Corps, yeah. We were training up near the Aramac border. Things have been quiet between us for the past few years, but it's like the eye of a hurricane. No one wants to upset it. Which makes me wonder who the idiot was who sent us down there to train but—" He shook himself, forcing himself back on track. "Doesn't matter. There was an explosion. To this day I don't know what caused it. All we knew was that the Aramac border outpost was suddenly gone and there was a smoking pile of rubble in its place."

"Gods above."

"Yeah, and there's nothing on that side of the border but the outpost. They only built it because we built ours. By the time anyone from Aramac got there, anyone who'd survived the explosion would have been dead"

"Of course you went to the rescue."

"Tried to. My CO ordered us to stay put." The memory still made him angry.

" _Why_?"

"Because if the stupid bastards blew themselves up it wasn't our problem." Steve clenched his teeth until his jaw ached, then made himself relax. "Direct quote, by the way. He was a piece of work. If we weren't there the border guard would have gone. Their commander, Lieutenant Carter, she was good people, but of course Shield Corps outranks everyone and he said stay. But when I broke ranks, I took Carter and her people with me. We crossed into Aramac and started digging in. It was a mess, there were a lot of dead, a lot of people we were too late to save, but we pulled out some of their mages early on and between magic and muscle, we got the rubble stabilised, got air to people trapped. Saved them until their people got there. Then it all went diplomatic."

"Ouch." Bucky winced. "How'd that go?"

"From their side, surprisingly well. They thanked us, they patched up the few of us who'd gotten hurt, and they escorted us right back to the edge of the border. Where a full company of the Guard was waiting to take me and Carter into custody."

"What happened to Carter?"

"I managed to make her and her people part of my deal. Got it on the record that I ordered them to follow me. I outrank them, they were obeying what they thought were legitimate orders. There won't be any black marks on their records. It was all I could do for them."

"Because you didn't order them did you?"

"No."

"They followed you because it was right." Steve lifted one shoulder. "And because it was you."

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Because I was Shield Corps."

"Doubt it. But okay. You told me the story, and I agree with you. Your reasons were good. It was all you could do. And your CO was an asshole of the highest order."

"Thanks, Buck."

"Do you regret it?"

"Not one bit. I'd do it all over again if I had to make the choice."

"Unicorn Warden in the back end of nowhere isn't a bit of a come down from the elite Shield Corps?"

"Nah, I like it here." More and more because of the man sitting across the table from him, but that was something he was careful to keep to himself.

"I knew there was something strange about you."

Steve shook his head at Bucky, who grinned, and drained the last of his tea. "Come on, I'll teach you to make cookies."

"You sure you want to do that, Steve?" Bucky asked, suddenly serious.

"Why?" He sat up straighter. "What's wrong?"

"If I can make 'em myself, what'll I need you for?"

Steve blinked at him, not sure what to say, and Bucky broke into peals of laughter. "Gods above, you’re an ass. Just for that I shouldn’t show you."

"Don't be dumb. Even if I know how, where else am I going to make them?"

"Good point."

 

* * *

 

The sun was setting behind the trees, turning the sky into a blaze of fire to match the flames flickering in the fire pit outside Steve's van. He knew Steve didn't think it was cold enough to need a fire, but Bucky was chilly and there was something comforting about it.

Bucky tossed another piece of wood into the flames, raising a shower of sparks, then eased to sit on the grass in front of the log. Steve gave him a sympathetic look. "Shut up," Bucky muttered and the sympathy morphed into barely concealed amusement. Bucky didn't rub his ass, even though he kind of wanted to.

"I still don't know how you managed that."

Bucky didn't either, truth be told. The day might have started with a nightmare, but it had turned into something out of a dream, separate from the world they both lived in, nothing for either of them to be but together. Steve had offered to teach Bucky to ride his bike. _Just in case_ , he'd said vaguely, and Bucky had said _Sure_ , and neither of them had talked about _just in case_ what.

It had been going well, the bike was easy to ride, light and manoeuvrable, the hum of its Device so quiet he could hear Steve calling instructions. Stop, start, turn, accelerate, brake. It had been going _great_.

He'd stopped, one foot planted on the ground for balance, listening to Steve explain how to do a fast take off. It had seemed simple. Which made it all the more confusing when, several seconds later, he'd found himself flat on his back with the bike next to him, his hands still wrapped tightly around the leather grips. Steve had rushed over, making sure he was okay, but in the face of Bucky's complete confusion he'd given in to uproarious laughter.

Apparently, he'd explained once he'd managed to stop laughing, Bucky had done everything right—except _not_ point the bike straight at a tree. Steve had been treated to the sight of Bucky attempting to imitate a squirrel. There were perfect tire marks several feet up the trunk and an imprint of Bucky's ass in the dirt.

 _How did I manage it?_ "Talent," Bucky said, nose in the air, setting Steve off again. Bucky tilted his head so he could watch him. Even when Steve was laughing _at_ him, there was something warming about it, the way he laughed with his whole body, and his laughter was clean and honest. "You heard me tell you to shut up, right?"

"I heard you," Steve assured him, grinning down at him. "What do you think the chances are of that happening?"

"I think a poor teacher blames his student, Warden Rogers," he replied in the most pious voice imaginable and Steve made an outraged noise. Bucky wrinkled his nose at him, then gave into the urge to grin.

"I don't remember trying to teach you to climb trees."

Bucky turned so he was leaning sideways on the log and propped his head on his hand. "Maybe that's where you went wrong. Maybe you _should_ have been teaching me to climb trees."

"On a bike?"

Bucky lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"You're ridiculous," Steve pronounced. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

Dinner was simple, leftovers from Steve's cold box fried up together into something Bucky told him looked like it had already been eaten. It proved to be surprisingly good. Steve gave him a smug look when Bucky started wolfing it down after the first tentative bite. Bucky ignored him and kept eating.

After dinner they did the dishes together then settled back in front of the fire, illuminated by the light from Steve's van, to read. "Is it my turn to read or yours?" Steve asked, making himself comfortable next to Bucky, not quite close enough to touch. When they sat together he never sat so he was touching Bucky, but he always sat close. Close enough Bucky could feel the air between them warm. Bucky thought he wouldn't mind if Steve sat closer. Bucky thought maybe he wanted Steve to sit closer. He stared at Steve's shoulder out of the corner of his eye and thought about shuffling over the inch it would take to lean against Steve's side. "Bucky?"

He jumped. "What?"

"Is it my turn or yours?"

"Yours." It wasn't, it was Bucky's, but he wanted to sit here next to Steve and listen to his voice.

Judging by the look Steve gave him, Steve knew it wasn't his turn, but he didn't say anything, just opened the book and began to read.

The words drifted through the air and wrapped around Bucky, drawing him in. Carefully, not giving himself time to think about it, he moved closer, until he was shoulder to hip with Steve. There was a brief pause in Steve's reading, then he smiled a little and kept going as Bucky slowly relaxed against him.

He'd been telling the truth when he'd told Steve he knew he was safe here. Steve had scared him this morning, but he hadn't been scared _of_ Steve. He'd been scared for Steve. Steve had been right on the edge and Bucky still wasn't sure how they'd managed to pull back. To see that side of Steve, to know it existed, to discover he had the skills to back it up—Bucky knew he'd have to be careful of him. Not because Steve would ever turn it on him. No, because Steve, for whatever reason, would turn it on others _for_ him.

He felt a little like someone had handed him an unsheathed blade. 

An unsheathed blade who was currently reading to him, who was warm and solid and who'd taught him to make cinnamon cookies and ride a bike— _badly, or you wouldn't have ridden it half way up a tree_ —and said _You're always safe here_ , like a vow, like an oath. He leaned into Steve and closed his eyes, losing himself in the story and the feel of Steve's warmth soaking into him.

Steve came to the end of a chapter, marked the page, and closed the book. "We probably need to make a decision, seeing as it's after dark." Bucky opened his eyes. "Do you want to go back or do you want to stay here tonight? And if you do want to go back, I've got some," there was a long pause and Bucky could see Steve changing what he was going to say, "there's a way I want to do it."

"I need to go back." Even if part of him wondered what it would be like to stay here. "Not going back would be a lousy way to repay Brock for getting me out of the way. And I know, he's done plenty of lousy things to me, he's still doing them, seeing as he thinks I'm still spending the nights locked in my van, but," he looked at Steve seriously, "I think this one makes up for it. I need to go back."

"I figured you were going to say that."

"What's your plan?"

"I'm going to go in first, make sure this Hydra high-up is gone. If he is, you can come in. If he's not, I'm just the local Warden, swinging by to make sure everything's in order, and you'll come back here."

"I'm not going to argue with you."

"Good."

The relief on Steve's face touched him and he nudged him gently with his elbow. "Do you want to go now?"

"No. But we probably should."

"Probably."

They walked back to Hydra's camp. Bucky led the way, his steps unerring he'd done it so many times now, but it took longer than usual. They weren't hurrying. Steve pulled them to a stop well outside the camp and Bucky thought this was what he must have looked like when he was Shield Corps. He was alert, seemed taller, stronger, like the Steve he knew was buried underneath a stranger. He was armed. He'd strapped on his Warden's weapons before they'd left camp. His pistol, the tiny Device hidden and dark, so it wouldn’t give its wielder away, a long knife strapped to his thigh, several more tucked away in secret.

"Stay here," he said softly.

"I know."

"I know you know, I just—" He gave Bucky a distracted, hopeless smile, his Steve again, then it faded and the dangerous stranger was back, but he was still Steve, he was looking at Bucky the same way. "I know."

"It's going to be fine, Steve. Either he'll be there, and you can play prissy officious Warden and drive him nuts, and don't tell me you won't enjoy that, or he won't be, and you can come and get me. Promise me something, though."

"Anything."

"If he is there? Don't hurt him. Don't punch him. I don't care what he says, don't do it." Steve's eyes shuttered, hiding everything away. "I mean it. You won't get away with it and you'll end up having to become, I don't know, a weasel watcher, and that means they send you away if you don't get tossed in prison. So do not do it."

"What's a weasel watcher?"

"Someone who watches weasels. I thought that would have been obvious." Steve's mouth twitched and his eyes cleared. "Promise me."

Steve looked away and pulled in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then nodded. "I promise. Want me to swear it on the gods above?"

"No, you promised me. That's all I need."

Steve didn't say anything, just dipped his head briefly, and then he was striding into the Hydra camp, calling out, "Ho the camp!" in the most falsely cheerful tone Bucky had ever heard. He leaned out from behind a tree so he could watch. It took a bit before Brock appeared, and from what Bucky could see he looked cranky.

"Warden Rogers." Words of respect with a tone of deep sarcasm were the mark of how Brock tended to talk to Steve, so that didn't tell Bucky anything. "Something I can do for you?"

"Your visitors seem to have left."

Brock dragged a hand through his hair. "Headed down to town a couple of hours ago. They're probably on the train back to where they belong by now. I believe you have something of mine?"

"No, I don't have anything that's yours." There was an undercurrent of anger in Steve's response. "I do, however, have Bucky, safe and sound."

"Good," he replied. "Good," he said again and he sounded weary as he went on, "I know you and me are never going to see eye to eye, but I didn't really know what else to do with him other than send him to you."

"We're not, but you can always send him to me if you need to. I'll look after him."

"Yeah, I figured." There was something in Brock's voice Bucky couldn't quite parse, some undercurrent he didn't quite know how to interpret, but Steve went still, eyes locked with Brock, who smirked at him. Steve turned away abruptly and beckoned to Bucky, who made his way into camp. "Look what the Warden dragged in," Brock said. "Have a nice day, Barnes?"

"It was fine." He kicked the dirt, then squared his shoulders. "Thanks. For getting me out of the way."

It was Brock's turn to turn away abruptly. He grunted and waved a hand at Bucky's van, tossed a, "Go to bed, Barnes," over his shoulder, and disappeared into his own van.

"He's allergic to courtesy," Steve said. "I'll remember that."

Bucky laughed quietly. He was suddenly exhausted, like the whole day had just tumbled into the proper part of their existence and caught up with him all at once. He yawned, tried to cover it, and yawned harder.

"It was decent advice, whatever the source. You should get to bed."

"You too," Bucky told him. Steve walked him to his van and stood at the bottom of the steps while Bucky opened the door. "Thanks for today."

"Anytime."

"Hopefully not."

"For any reason," Steve told him, then cocked his head thoughtfully. "Maybe less trying to ride my bike up a tree, though."

"Ass."

"Go to sleep, Bucky."

"G'nite Steve. Walk safely."

"Sleep well."

Steve stayed where he was until Bucky closed the van door and Bucky couldn't help imagining him standing, a still and silent sentinel, as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A senior Hydra person who is implied to have an interest in virgins is coming to inspect the hunters' camp. It is implied, but never explicitly said, that if he had seen Bucky, because Bucky is an indentured virgin he would have taken him and sexually assaulted him. Brock sends Bucky to Steve, so it actually happening is never a possibility, but Steve and Bucky have a conversation in which they talk about what didn't happen, although not in explicit terms.


	11. Chapter 11

Winter continued to be mild with occasional bursts of actual cold, as if someone was taking it aside, reminding it of what it was supposed to be, usually accompanied by icy rains, making everything muddy and damp and generally unpleasant.

Bucky spent most of his time with Steve. Not just sneaking out at night, because Brock's rule about Bucky not going anywhere without a Hydra escort had apparently received an unspoken amendment to include: or he was with the Warden.

Steve kept teaching Bucky. How to ride the bike without imitating a squirrel. How to fire a pistol, which he informed Bucky he was a natural at, and how to use a knife like he meant it. Steve started teaching him tactics and planning and history. He was an open book of knowledge, everything he'd been taught in the Guard and as a Warden there for Bucky to learn.

Bucky felt like a different person, stronger, smarter, than the man who'd walked up to Brock that day at the pub.

Winter gave way to spring and spring brought everyone back. It also brought a letter. Wanda handed it to him. The paper was battered, the ink smeared, the corner of the envelope torn. "Sorry," she said. "I think it's been sitting around headquarters for a while. It was waiting in a pile of non-urgent gear to come out to us. I picked it up because I knew you'd want it."

"Thanks," he said absently and she nodded. He turned it over in his hands, because he recognised the handwriting, even smudged as it was. It was from his mother, sent to him at Hydra headquarters, because all he'd told her was that he was working for Hydra. He didn't want to open it. But he did. But he really didn't. He looked around—everywhere was noise and boisterous laughter and shit-calling as the hunters reacquainted themselves after being away for months, as vans were opened and aired out, as stories were told and exaggerated and insults flew through the air like drunken birds.

It was so loud after the months of peace.

Resolutely he folded the letter in half and shoved it in his pocket. Whatever he was going to do, he wasn't going to do it here.

 

* * *

 

"Bucky." Steve sounded surprised to open his door after dark and find Bucky standing there. Which was fair enough. Sneaking out to Steve's camp at night hadn't been necessary in a long time. But now everyone was back, the hunts were going to start, the winter days of freedom were over. "Come in."

Bucky followed him into the van and made himself comfy in the chair. The letter felt hot in his pocket. "It's still okay for me to come over at night?"

"Of course."

"Everyone started coming back today. The camp is crazy. Loud. They're everywhere. I don't remember them being so," he paused, " _overwhelming_."

"I can imagine." Steve chuckled and handed him a mug of tea, leaning against the counter, regarding him thoughtfully. "Everything all right? You look a little," he waved his hand back and forth, "not okay."

He thought about lying, saying yeah, everything's fine. Steve wouldn't believe him, but he'd accept it. He could just sit here, drinking tea in the peace of Steve's company and then go back and lie awake in his own van, staring at the ceiling, not sleeping. Without speaking, he pulled the battered envelope out of his pocket and handed it over.

Steve took it and read the front, flipped it over and read the back. "Mrs W Barnes... Your mother?"

"Yeah." He took a sip of tea.

"You haven't opened it."

He shook his head.

"Any particular reason?"

"I don't know what it's gonna say."

"That's kind of how it works with letters." It was gentle teasing. "You never know what they're gonna say until you open them."

Bucky made a face at him. "That's what was holding me back, I didn't know how it _worked_. All my problems are solved."

"That's what I'm here for."

He rubbed a hand through his hair, loosening it from its tie, and it fell over his face. "What if it's bad?"

"Why would it be bad?"

 _Why would it be bad._ "I told you I'm indentured. I never told you why." He stared at Steve intently. "You never asked."

"No."

"How come?"

"I knew you'd tell me if you needed me to know."

Bucky gazed up at him, warmth curling through him, then gave himself a mental shake. "My family, that's my mother, my sister, they're why I indentured myself to Hydra. Brock would have hired me, like any of the hunters, but I needed a chunk of money, enough to get them out of where we were. There was no work, no jobs, nothing for me and nothing for them. Becca, my sister, she's just a kid. We'd already sold everything worth anything. The only thing I had left was me." Steve's eyes were gentle, understanding. "What if they're not okay? What if they're somewhere worse than they were when I left them?" All this time he'd been believing they were fine, that they were happy and safe in a new life, but now he had this letter and what if he'd been _wrong?_

Steve was right in front of him, holding out his hand, head tilted like a question, and Bucky leaned forward. Steve gripped his shoulder, thumb falling into the hollow of his collarbone, fingers spreading wide to edge over the nape of neck, and it was overwhelming, Steve's touch against his skin, but it felt good, felt right.

"You said you went to Sam. You said you knew they were safe. Sam would never lie to you."

"But—"

"So you could be panicking over nothing." He squeezed Bucky's shoulder, thumb brushing his collarbone. "Bucky. Read the letter." Steve held out the envelope. "You won't know until you read it. If it's bad, we'll do something. I promise."

Bucky took the envelope and ripped it open carefully. It was short, didn't take him long to read, but he read it twice and then a third time.

They were safe, in a town in the interior, with lots of work and lots of chances. Becca was doing well, was settled into a new school, but she missed her brother. His mother had had more than one offer of work. Considering the date on the letter, how long it had taken to get to him, his mother would already have taken one of those jobs. Of that Bucky was certain.  

He slumped, leaning into Steve's touch. Steve had been right.

"Is everything okay?" Instead of answering he passed the letter to Steve. Time ticked passed as he read and then he set the letter down. " _Bucky_. That's wonderful." Steve's thumb brushed against his skin and Bucky fought the urge, unexpected, unfamiliar, to slump forward and let his forehead rest against Steve. He felt giddy with the knowledge, not second-hand, passed through the Temple, but certainty from his mother's own hand, when he'd been so careful not to think about it, and he wanted, he wanted...

He shuffled forward on the chair and leaned forward, pressing into Steve. He felt Steve's startlement and started to pull back, ready to apologise, except Steve moved his arm so he was holding him carefully, lightly. Bucky's words were muffled by Steve's shirt as he said, "They're happy." Steve's hand was warm and wide on his back. He laughed softly. "They're safe."

"They are." Steve moved to sit on the chair's arm next to Bucky, arm still firmly around him, and Bucky gave himself over completely to whatever had taken hold of him and nestled into him. "And all you had to do was open the letter." 

"What do you know? I guess you are clever."

He gave Bucky a little squeeze. "Told you."

They sat together and the longer they sat, the bigger the warmth inside Bucky grew, twisting out to meet the physical warmth radiating out from Steve. "I don't regret it. I'd do it again. Same as you. They're worth it."

Steve hummed in the back of his throat and Bucky felt it vibrating through Steve's chest. "Tell me about them?"

"My mother's practical. She'll have one of those jobs by now. She doesn't let things get in her way. If something needs to be done, she does it, no matter how it makes her feel, but it doesn’t mean she doesn't feel things. She and my father, they loved each other. They loved each other so much it was embarrassing being anywhere with them in public when I was a kid, but I always thought I'd have that when I grew up."

"You don't anymore?"

Bucky shrugged. "Things change." It wasn't in the cards for him, not the way he was. Steve frowned, but thankfully didn't ask. "I'm pretty sure they got married because of me, because my mother was pregnant with me. I mean, not that anyone would care, but they sometimes liked to be traditional. Whenever I asked they'd laugh and tell me they'd always known they were going to get married, why and when weren't important. When my father died." He stopped.

"You don't have to talk about it,"

"No, I want to. I want to tell you about him. About them. When my father died, it hurt. We lost part of ourselves we'll never get back. Becca was so young, she didn't really understand, she just knew he was gone. But me and my mother. Gods above, we didn't think it would ever get better. Except at the funeral, when we were telling the story of his life, she started laughing. The priest thought she was having hysterics, but she wasn't. She'd just remembered the time he got into a fight with the goat. And lost."

"He got into a fight with a goat," Steve asked carefully.

"The goat was drunk at the time, but then so was my father. The goat ended up stealing his hat and running off into the woods." He could feel Steve shaking, trying not to laugh. "You can laugh, it's okay, it's funny. We ended up spending the whole funeral telling stories about him. Most of them were like that. He had a gift for finding the most ridiculous situation available and tossing himself into it."

"I think I'd have liked him."

"Yeah, you two would have hit it off. I'm not sure the two of you would have survived, but he would have liked you." He kept talking, telling Steve about his family, about growing up about when Becca was born. "When she started talking she couldn't say James, she had trouble with the J sound. That's how I ended up being Bucky again."

"Again?"

"Again. It was my child-name, the one you're supposed to give up after you're Presented. But I didn't want Becca to feel bad, so I told her to call me Bucky. And then everyone else started doing it, too."

"Do you want me to call you James?"

"Gods no! I'm Bucky. That's who I am. I think James would have been someone different."

"I'm glad you said that." Bucky tipped his head back so he could see Steve's face. "Because you're Bucky to me. Not James." Steve wrinkled his nose. "If that makes any sense at all."

"I think so," he said, momentarily caught by the light in Steve's eyes. He let his head fall back to rest on Steve's chest and Steve's hand lightly brushed across his hair, tucking it behind his ear. 

Eventually he drifted off, curled in the chair, tucked under Steve's arm, his head pillowed over Steve's heart. When Steve woke him to go back to camp it was only a few hours before dawn.

"See you at the hunt?" Bucky asked, pausing at the edge of Steve's camp, reluctant to leave. He wanted to go back, to curl under Steve's arm, to let the sound of Steve's heart lull him back to sleep.

"See you there," Steve said around a yawn. Bucky felt a pang of guilt at having kept him awake most of the night, but then Steve grinned and waved him off and he was light all the way through.

 

* * *

 

Bucky was awoken for the first hunt of spring by banging on his van door just after dawn.

He was tired, the late night and the early morning conspiring to make his brain slower than it should be.

That's why it took him a minute to understand what Cass meant when she came up to him as they were loading into the utes. She clapped him on the back, but he barely even twitched at the touch because she did it to everyone, like she couldn’t possibly believe they were real unless she had the proof under her hands. No, what was strange was when she said, "You know, I halfway didn't expect you to be here when we got back. Thought you might have piked off back to town. Glad to see I was wrong. You're okay, Barnes."

She kept going past him, yelling something at Trojak, but he stared after her, dumbfounded by the sheer absurdity of what she'd said. He was still staring when Brock came up next to him.

"Yeah," he said, low voiced. "I didn't tell 'em."

Bucky turned the look on him.

"Never can tell how people are gonna react to an Indenture and I don't need discipline problems. Easier to keep it to myself and I figured you wouldn't spread it around." Bucky kept staring. Brock shook his head. "Calm down, Barnes. It's just practical. Don't make a big deal out of it."

As Brock walked away, heading for the ute, Bucky's mind was buzzing. It explained _so much_. Why the hunters had treated him the same as everyone else, why none of them had ever never treated him like an Indenture. Because they didn't fucking _know._

"Get your ass in the ute, Barnes," Brock yelled. "We don't have all day."

It broke him out of his stunned stupor and he jogged over to climb into the ute, still lost in thought. He had to wonder why no one had cared about Brock locking him in at nights, why Wanda had agreed to create the mage-lock in the first place, why no one had cared about Brock's _Bucky doesn't go anywhere without an escort_ rule. But then again, if they didn't know he was an Indenture, they probably thought _he_ didn't care. If he'd cared, he'd have quit.

Between yesterday's letter, last night's whatever-that-had-been with Steve, and now this, Bucky felt like his world had been tipped upside down.


	12. Chapter 12

Spring tumbled past and Bucky kept spending his time with Steve. It was where he was happiest, it was where he was comfortable, and Steve always welcomed him. Bucky's skill on the bike improved, there were no more tree-climbing attempts, and Steve kept working with him, making sure Bucky didn't lose what Steve had taught him over the winter.

The hunts were always the same. Smooth, routine, practically clockwork. The unicorn herds arrived within a week of Brock's rough schedule, like they were following an irresistible lure that led them inevitably through the preserve. Every hunt, when heads lifted and ears flicked as Bucky began his walk towards the herd, he felt a pang of regret. They were beautiful and, however devout he wasn't, he believed in the gods above. But Bucky comforted himself that, whatever else, they were doing the least amount of harm.

Half a dozen times, as spring turned into an unseasonably cool summer, he started to write his mother, but each letter had to begin with either _I'm hunting unicorns_ or a lie. In the end he didn't finish any of them. He'd reached the point where he was okay with what he was doing, but that didn't mean she would be. That didn't mean her new friends and neighbours would be. It was easier to let it lie. He knew they were safe and that was enough.

 

* * *

 

Bucky was alone in the meal hall, first in for lunch for once, everyone else lost to the newly invented sport of snail racing. Bored hunters could be endlessly creative, and it wasn't a fast sport, but they were committed. They'd even painted numbers and elaborate colours on their shells. Bets had been placed. Bucky had left them to it when the bell had rung for lunch and taken advantage of his chance to grab the best pickings.

He _had_ been alone in the meal hall. Now Brock was sitting across from him. Somehow Bucky wasn't surprised he had no interest in snail racing. "Summer's half over."

"The sky is blue." Brock's eyes narrowed. Maybe, way back at the beginning, Bucky would have been worried; now, he just kept eating, because Brock was more bluster than bite. Bucky had no doubt he'd bite if Bucky gave him reason—like if he ever caught Bucky sneaking out—but backtalk wasn't going to do it. "Sorry, I thought we were saying obvious things."

"Summer's half over _and_ that means your year's almost up." Bucky stopped with his fork half-way to his mouth. "You need to decide what you're going to do."

"I'm not indenturing myself for another year."

"Hydra's not offering that. That was a one-time only deal. But if you decide to sign on, the pay's good, you know the job, the people. And," he cast his eyes to the ceiling, like he couldn't believe he was about to say this, "and we want you."

"I have to think about it."

"You do that."

Brock pushed up from the table and walked away. Bucky stared at his plate. How had he not realised...

When he'd started, he'd been counting down the time. And now he'd needed Brock to tell him it was almost over.

_What are you going to do, Bucky?_

When he'd signed on, when he'd pressed his bloody thumb to the page, he'd known the answer to that question. Get out as fast as his legs would carry him. Run. But what he'd found here hadn't been what he'd expected.

He pushed his plate away and rubbed his forehead. He had no money. If he left, he'd leave with nothing.

And, a tiny voice whispered, if you leave, there'll be no more Steve.

 

* * *

 

Steve looked up from oiling his boots when Bucky threw himself down next to him like the ground had personally offended him. He knew that meant something was up. He didn't ask, just waited patiently, kept working the oil into his boot, knowing Bucky would tell him when he was ready. Or he wouldn’t, he'd work it out in his own head. Either way, Steve wasn't going to push.

Bucky eventually broke the silence with, "Summer's half over."

"I'm glad you told me. With the days getting shorter, I thought maybe we'd done something to anger the gods." He ducked to avoid the chunk of bark Bucky tossed at his head.

"I've got to decide what I'm going to do." Steve raised an eyebrow in question. "My indenture's almost up."

For a minute, Steve couldn't breathe, felt like someone had hauled off and punched him in the gut. _He's going to leave. All the gods above, I'm going to lose him._ Bucky didn't notice, he was staring up into the sky, face scrunched up in concentration. _I can't lose him._ "What are you thinking?" It came out even, but his fingernails dug into the boot he was holding, leaving little gouges in the leather.

"I don't know what I'm thinking. My brain's spinning around like a drunk snail. Only faster. I was always going to leave. As soon as my indenture was up I was going to get out of here."

 _Can I go with you?_ The words popped into his head, but he caught them before they made it out of his mouth. They took hold, though, filling him up, digging into his heart. _Could I? Can I?_ He'd never agreed to be a Warden forever. So much of what made it worthwhile now was Bucky. He couldn't imagine being out here without him.

He couldn't imagine being anywhere without him. Steve gripped his boot tightly and breathed through the realisation.

"But if I leave, I leave with nothing. No money, no job. And I don't." Bucky brushed his hand over the grass, pressing it flat then watching the blades spring back up, and his voice was quiet, gaze flicking up to Steve and away, when he said, "I can't go back to my family with nothing. I won't be a burden on them."

Steve's heart broke a little. "Bucky, they wouldn't—"

"No." It came out harsh, hard. Bucky grimaced and pressed the tips of his fingers against the back of Steve's hand in apology. Even that brief touch spiralled through Steve, knowing how much it meant. "I did all this to get them secure. I'm not gonna do anything to risk that."

"Okay, Buck," he said soothingly. "But if money's the only reason you'd be staying, I can give," Bucky gave him a sharp look and he hastily changed it to, "loan you what you need. I barely spend any of what they pay me, so I've got money. A lot, actually." _Steve, you fucking idiot._ But Bucky being happy was more important than keeping him here, no matter how Steve felt.

"No." Bucky leaned forward to touch Steve's hand again, and he squeezed Steve's fingers. Gods above, every touch from Bucky was a _gift_. His heart swelled and his future was suddenly clear. When Bucky left, whenever that happened, if Bucky would let him, Steve was going with him. "Thank you, but no. No." He held out his hands, turned them over and back, curled his fingers closed and let them drop to rest on his thighs. "I need to think about it some more, but Steve?" 

"Yeah, Bucky?"

"It means a lot that you offered."

"Anything for you. You know that."

Bucky laughed softly and held out his hand. "You should be careful saying things like that. Someday I'm gonna take you up on that _anything_. Now give me your other boot and a rag. I think better when I'm doing something."

 

* * *

 

A week later at dinner, Bucky dropped into the seat across from Brock and folded his arms on the table. Jack and Trojak stared at him, because Bucky didn't sit with them. He ate on his own, at the table that had become his. Very occasionally Wanda would join him, Pietro following after her with a long-suffering sigh, but mostly he ate alone. Boldly injecting himself into the main table's hunt-planning and shit-giving was a breach of the unspoken etiquette that kept everyone from killing each other.

Brock eyed him, looking distinctly unimpressed, until Bucky nodded. Then he smiled. "Give us the table."

The other two grumbled, but they picked up their meals and went and sat at...Bucky's table. He wasn't even surprised. He was even less surprised when Jack put his feet up on the table, his plate in his lap, and glared at Bucky. Bucky opted for _ignore it_ and turned back to Brock. "I'll stay, if what you're offering is good enough."

"You get the same deal Hydra offers every hunter, with the standard virgin bonus." Brock listed the details and it was good. Better than Bucky had ever made at the workshop. "That's all year, even in the off-season. But," Brock's face went hard, eyes like flint, "you decide to give it up to your Warden without giving me notice and you owe us. A month's pay."

"He's not _my_ Warden."

"Isn't he?"

"No! And there's not going to be any giving up anything."

"Whatever, Barnes. My interest in your love life begins and ends with making sure it doesn't interfere with Hydra's hunting. If you're gonna quit, you have to give two weeks' notice. If you decide to fuck someone, same thing, and if you don't bother you owe us compensation."

"A whole month's pay?"

"That's right. This isn't some fly by night hunters' collective. This is _Hydra_. The way we took you on was irregular, but you wanted something we don't usually give and I'm not gonna lie, we were in a tight spot." Brock leaned forward, lowered his voice. "I won't repeat this, but you turned out okay. I didn't think you would. Soft townie like you, I figured you'd punk out and we'd be getting our money back, one way or the other. But you didn't. You manned up. But that doesn't mean you get anything special now."

"It's touching how much you care," Bucky said, deadpan.

Brock heaved a sigh. "Well?"

He weighed it up, mind whirring as he made sure, really sure, that this was what he wanted to do, and then he nodded. "I'm in."

 

* * *

 

"So you're going to stay," Steve said. The fire crackled merrily, a little too warm even if it had been an unusually cold summer, but it hadn't been lit for heat, and they were both verging on tipsy, sitting on the grass, celebrating Bucky's freedom.

Because he was free now.

With only three weeks left to run, and Bucky willing to sign on as Hydra's virgin in the standard way, Brock had released him from his indenture. Steve had built a fire and Bucky had fed the indenture paper, with its silvery rune and bloody thumbprint, into the flames with a mix of emotions he couldn’t untangle, Steve standing steady by his side. He'd felt like he should say something, because it was over, he was his own again, but in the end he'd just let out a little breath and leaned against Steve's shoulder as the paper crumbled to ash. 

"Yeah," Bucky replied. "And I'm going to get paid, which means I can pay you back for everything you've given me."

"There's nothing to pay back," Steve said, surprised. "Second hand books, cookies, and I fed you a few times. That's about it."

"We'll see."

"We will," Steve challenged and Bucky grinned, then took a sip of his ale.

"And I guess I'm used to it now, as much as you can get used to something like this. And like we talked about, I've seen their records, I'm right there on the hunts. They're more like," he stopped searching for the right word, "honestly, strange as it sounds, I guess they're more like caretakers. They're careful, and I know the unicorns never suffer. The way Hydra does it, causing the least amount of harm? I can live with that."

"As long as you're happy, Bucky. That's all that matters."

"I'm close enough. And hey," he said, laughing a little, "at least it's a job I'm qualified for."

Steve joined in, chuckling softly.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire, drinking their ale, and when their bottles were empty, Bucky hopped up to get refills from Steve's van. He handed one to Steve and dropped to sit next to him.

"Is it hard?" Steve asked.

Bucky eyed him dubiously. "Making bad jokes?"

"What? Oh, no. No, I was serious, but now that I think about it, it's none of my business."

"Steve, if we only talked about stuff that was 'our business' we'd never talk about anything but unicorns. You can ask me anything you want."

"True. Okay, is it hard staying a virgin?"

Bucky set his ale aside and lay back in the grass, staring up at the sky. He could just say _yes_. It would be easier. It would be simpler. But this was Steve. If there was anyone... "This is one of those trick questions, where if I say no, you think there's something wrong with me so I have to say yes, even if it's a lie."

He could feel Steve looking at him. "You realise you just answered the question."

"No I didn't."

Steve hummed thoughtfully. "Okay."

He turned his head to watch Steve. "No, it's not hard."

"And you think I'm going to think there's something wrong with you because of that."

"Maybe." He shifted a little in the grass, almost but not quite touching Steve. He could feel the warmth of him and it was comforting. "Do you know someone offered to pay to have sex with me?" The look of shock on Steve's face almost made him laugh. "A great deal of money, he said, but it had nothing to do with _me_. He didn't even know me. It was because I'm a virgin. A unicorn-guaranteed virgin." He waited a beat. "You're not saying anything."

"I don't know what to say."  

"Neither did I. According to him, he's not the only one. There's others. _Connoisseurs_ , like I'm wine to be drunk." He was silent for a bit. "It made me wonder what would have happened if I'd heard about them before I heard Hydra needed a virgin."

Steve went still beside him.

"The problem is: how would you make sure you got the money? Hydra doesn't pay me, I can go to the Justice. But some guy says: here, I'll pay you if you let me fuck you, but then when he's done he won't pay, how exactly would you make him? But the other thing, the bigger thing." He took a deep breath, wondering what he was doing, why he was doing it. This was like jumping off a cliff and he knew he couldn't fly. "Is it makes me feel sick."

"Getting paid for it?"

"Any of it. Sex, fucking, all of it, the whole idea makes me sick. I've never wanted to do it, never wanted it done to me, not any of it. Not with anyone. And I'm never going to. So no, it's not hard staying a virgin." He held his breath and folded his hands across his stomach, fingers clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. Steve shifted next to him. "Still think there's nothing wrong with me?"

"I still think there's nothing wrong with you."

"No?" Bucky's voice dripped with disbelief.

"No." Steve leaned over Bucky and gently touched his clenched hands. Bucky couldn't move. He'd told Steve the truth about what he was and Steve was still touching him. "There's this thing Sam says. He says the gods want the world to be in balance. He says there's balance everywhere we look. So if there's people like me, who want to have sex with men and women, it makes sense that there's people who don't want to have sex with either. There'd have to be or there wouldn't be any balance. Balance, Bucky. You and me, we balance each other out."

Bucky stared at Steve for a long time, warmth rushing through him. "You're so full of shit," he finally said, but he couldn't help a shaky smile of relief. Steve's answering smile was warm and strong.

"Maybe, maybe not." He held Bucky's eyes. "But there's not a damn thing wrong with you, and that's the truth."

Something broke open inside Bucky and washed through him. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw his arms around Steve and hang on. He didn't do either. He just drew in a deep breath and nodded.

 

***    *    ***

 

Steve had never heard of anything like what Bucky had described, but he'd given Bucky nothing but truth. He didn't think there was anything wrong with him. It did make sense there'd be an other side of the coin to himself. A tiny, deep-down part of him was disappointed. However distantly theoretical the possibility had been, he'd wondered what it would be like. But it was only a tiny part of him and, with the briefest moment of regret, he set it free.

"I never told anyone that before," Bucky said while Steve leaned over him, one hand resting on Bucky's clenched hands, except they weren't clenched anymore; they'd relaxed, his knuckles weren't white. "Not sure why I did."

Bucky was looking up at him, and however much he might try to hide what he was feeling, Steve had spent too much time learning to read him. He could see what Bucky wasn't saying. He gods above hoped the reverse wasn't true, because his heart was racing, everything he felt for Bucky growing, sharpening, flaring into brighter life. He'd suspected this was love, this _everything_ he felt for Bucky, this _everything_ Bucky had become, but he hadn't known. He hadn't been sure.

Now he knew.

 _I love you._ It was all Steve could do not to blurt it out. He didn't, he held onto it, shoved it back down behind his heart. If he said it, he was afraid he'd just be saying it for himself. He'd never seen any sign from Bucky that he felt it, too. He was afraid if he said it he'd change things for Bucky, make Bucky once more hesitate to touch, to be touched, and Steve wouldn't do that to him.

So Steve didn't say it.

He did very gently, very carefully, brush the hair off Bucky's forehead, his touch a question, watching him for any sign of discomfort; Bucky was quiet under his hand, his smile a little shaky, but it was soft. "Must mean you really trust me."

"I guess so," Bucky agreed and Steve lay down next to him, their shoulders pressed together, as they stared up into the sky.


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn't that much different, not being an Indenture, except for all the ways it was.

It meant everything he did was his choice. It was startling how much difference that made. The first hunt it hit Bucky all over again, because it was _his choice_. He wasn't doing it because he'd signed a year of his life away at the press of a bloody thumbprint.

He'd made a choice.

But it was more than that. He'd changed. How he saw the hunts had changed. He was always going to feel that pang of regret at the death of a unicorn, like he'd said to Steve, it'd be better if no one ever had to kill one, but that wasn't the world they lived in and at least Hydra was responsible. They were caretakers. They did the least amount of harm.

And he was free to do what he wanted when Hydra didn't need him. He could go wherever he wanted, no mage-lock on his van, no escort required, no longer limited to only visiting Steve.

No one showed anything close to surprise when that's where he kept going. When they needed him unexpectedly, Steve's was the first place they looked. It never occurred to Bucky to wonder what they thought about it.

He was alone in the meal hall, eating a late breakfast, when he finally found out.

Sanzetti sidled over to his table and slid onto the bench across from him. Bucky _thought_ she was trying to be sneaky, but she was so obviously trying it was having the exact opposite effect. 

"Something I can do for you?" he asked.

She furtively looked around—again, so obviously Bucky wanted to rub his forehead and sigh—then leaned across the table. "You and the Warden."

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "Yes?"

"I know you have to give Brock notice before you...you know."

Bucky did know. What he didn't know was whether to be angry or amused or something else entirely, so he stared at her in silence.

"Have sex," she clarified, like she wanted to make sure Bucky understood. "And I was thinking, if you tell me first, I can cut you in."

Now he was just confused. "What are you talking about?"

"The bet?" He shook his head. "You don't know about the bet?" He shook his head again.

She stood up, fast, but Bucky fixed her with one of Steve's looks, the one he used on Brock, cold and firm, and maybe it didn't work on Brock but Sanzetti didn't have his immunity. She stopped. "Sit."

She sat.

"Explain what you're talking about."

"There's a betting pool on when you'll give it up to the Warden. It's pretty big now, it's been going for a while. If I win I'll give you a cut. If you tell me when you're going to give Brock notice, I can make sure I win."

He stared at her and kept staring at her while his mind whirred. A betting pool. On when he'd _give it up to_ Steve. He cringed internally. At least the chances of Steve finding out about it were non-existent. "Is that really a bet you want to win?" he asked. "Since then you'll be stuck with no more hunts, no one to call the unicorns, desperately trying to find a virgin like you were before I showed up?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, then frowned. At some point she left, but Bucky wasn't really paying attention, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice her.

 _Ignore it_ , he finally decided. _If they want to waste their time betting on something that's never going to happen, let them. I'm not going to worry about it._

 

* * *

 

Not being indentured anymore also meant Bucky had actual money, not that he was spending much. The first thing he'd done was pay Brock back, but he was squirreling most of it away. What he did spend mostly involved Steve: second-hand books they could read together, cookie ingredients, and buying Steve the occasional meal, wanting to offer him something in return for everything he'd done.

"You don't have to," Steve said as Bucky paid for the lunch special at Somewhere Else: slab-sized steaks, baked vegetables, and a pint of ale. It was cold and wet outside, far too much of both for this early in autumn, so they were sitting inside. "I didn't do things for you expecting to get something back."

"I know." Steve poked at a baked carrot, giving it a look of badly-concealed disappointment no innocent vegetable deserved to receive, and Bucky nudged him with his foot. "It's not about owing you, it's about wanting to," he huffed in frustration, "to do something nice for you. The way you did for me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Steve turned his head to look at Bucky, the corner of his mouth tilting up, and Bucky rolled his eyes. "Eat your carrot."

"Yes, Bucky."

And the most different thing of all, that had nothing to do with not being an Indenture—Steve knew what he was. Steve knew about him, knew what he was, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with him at all. _Balance, Bucky_. He held those words close to his heart.

 

* * *

 

The morning after Bucky's revelation, Steve had sent a message to Hill, asking what he'd have to do to leave the Wardens. He'd made sure she'd know he wasn't asking to leave right then and there, just what he'd have to do when and if he wanted out.

Her response had been gratifying.

_We don't keep the unwilling, just like we don't take the unwilling. If you want out, you need to let me know. I'd appreciate some warning, Hydra's hunters aren't ones I'd want left unsupervised for long. You've done a good job, Warden Rogers. Wherever your future lies, be proud of yourself._

He'd tucked it away safely, somewhere he knew Bucky wouldn’t stumble on it, because now that he wasn't indentured, not subject to Brock's heavy-handed rules, Bucky spent more time at Steve's camp than he did at Hydra's.

It meant Steve was ready. Not to have that conversation with Bucky, not yet. He'd wait until it was reality not just future possibility, but when it was time, when Bucky was ready to leave Louth, he'd ask to go with him. He was confident Bucky would say yes. Bucky might be a bit confused as to why Steve was asking, because _that_ conversation, the _I love you_ conversation, wasn't one he was sure they'd ever have.

He was okay with that.

He loved Bucky, loved him with a bone deep fierceness he hadn't known he could feel. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Bucky, no line he wouldn't cross, and maybe that should scare him, but it didn't. It couldn’t, not when he knew Bucky would never ask him to cross a line he shouldn't.

Bucky was like no one he'd ever met. Not just in how he felt about sex. He was _Bucky_ , unique and beautiful, he trusted Steve like he trusted no one else, and Steve was so in love with him it was as much a part of him as breathing.

Bucky might never love him back, not like Steve loved him, but Steve wasn't pining.

He didn't want to go with Bucky, to stay with him, in the hopes that someday Bucky's feelings might change. If this was all they ever had, Steve would live and die a happy man. Not that he'd be _unhappy_ if Bucky ever gave him a sign that more would be welcome, but what they had now? Steve could be content with that forever.

 

* * *

 

Fall rolled past, too cold and too wet, the days blurring together. Bucky's routine was mostly Steve. He was learning the preserve better than most of the hunters, riding with Steve when he patrolled the border, both of them bundled up against the rain and the chill. They'd veer out into the hinterlands to ride along the ridges, heading down from the hills to follow the river and circle around Louth to ride through the untamed forests and scrubland that surrounded Louth's farms. Everywhere they went they saw unicorns, but they were careful to stay out of range, so they wouldn't catch wind of Bucky's presence. 

Bucky barely noticed the time passing. As the rain picked up, making anything but necessary trips out on the bike a misery, he and Steve spent most of their time warm and cosy in Steve's van, taking turns reading to each other.

The hunts came and went, Brock carefully selecting which unicorns would live to make more unicorns, to be the coming years' future herds, and which would die.

Bucky had stopped closing his eyes. He didn't like it, there was always that moment of regret, and it hurt to see a unicorn killed, but he owed it to them, he owed it to himself, to be honest. To watch.

He was making this choice because he believed it wasn't wrong. He wouldn’t hide from it.

 

* * *

 

Winter arrived and brought more rain and unseasonable cold and miserable grey days. The hunts were slowing down as they got closer and closer to the last hunt of the year and every meal was filled with hunters planning to go somewhere warmer.

Half of them were going to take the train over the border and keep going, the far end of Pindar promising a respite from the constant chill.

 

* * *

 

Yesterday had been a small hunt, but even a small hunt meant a trip into Louth to send shipments out on the train. Bucky had come down with the hunters, because he and Steve had read every book they had multiple times and Steve deserved something new. Normally they'd come into town and pick something together, but Bucky wanted to surprise him.

He was hovering indecisively over the pile he'd made, trying to decide which one to get, when someone called his name. He looked up and was surprised to see the Deacon approaching. "Hi."

"How are you, Bucky?"

"Good. You?"

"Good, good."

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"Honestly? I'm wanting to ask you a favour."

"Me?"

"You. And of course you're free to say no, but I'm hoping you won't."

Bucky was stumped. He couldn't possibly imagine what the Deacon could want from him. "Okay. Let me finish up here and then you can ask?"

The Deacon nodded and Bucky, wavering, went for the book with the half-clad swordsman and the rearing unicorn on the cover, because he knew it would make Steve laugh. When he'd paid for it, he followed the Deacon outside. "What do you need?" he asked when they were on the sidewalk. 

"Presentations were supposed to happen two months ago, and then last month, and then two weeks ago, but something keeps coming up and the Temple Virgin keeps having to reschedule. We're running out of time and—"

Bucky took an involuntary step back. "You can't be about to ask me what I think you're going to ask me." 

"Look, no one much cares about us down here at the border, but there's children that need to be Presented this year and I'm running out of options."

"Just get someone from town to do it. You can't seriously expect me to believe no one else in Louth is a virgin. This isn't like asking them to come work for Hydra, this is doing something for the Temple. They'd jump at the chance. I mean, who doesn't like to get in a favour or two with the gods, right?"

The look Sam gave him made him feel about three years old. "Of course there's other virgins around, but that's not enough." He sighed and ran a hand over his head. "This is going to be hard to explain without it coming off as insulting, so just know I don't mean it that way. Presentation is a ritual. The gods don't care if your neighbours perform it. Honestly, they don't even need me, all they care about is that you come to it with an honest heart. But people? _People_ care. For a ritual to mean something, for it to be real to people, it has to come from someone outside. Someone separate. You live here, but you're not part of the town. I don't mean that as a bad thing. Right now, it's a blessing, literally. Will you help us?"

Bucky stared at him, because he was _serious_.

"Let me rephrase that: will you help the kids who've been waiting for this all year? The ones who've been waiting for years? Who are going to miss out otherwise? Who'll go through their whole life knowing they didn't get Presented in time?"

Bucky's stare slowly changed to a look of wonder. "Has anyone ever told you that for a Deacon you're kind of an a—" He snapped his mouth shut on the word, because he couldn’t, he _couldn't_ , call a man of the Temple an asshole. He just couldn't. He glowered at him, though. "How am I supposed to say no to that?"

"You're not, that's the whole point. And in answer to the question you didn't ask: yes I am. Sometimes you have to be to get things done. But to help clear things up for you, I was a lot of things before the gods called me to serve."

"You seriously want me to come and call the unicorns for Presentation. Me. After I've been calling them to the hunt."

"Yes."

Bucky rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Because there's no other choice."

"Yes."

"Fine. But I want to bring someone."

Sam's expression was shrewd as he asked, "Steve?"

"How did you know?"

"Divine guidance. That's fine. I'll need you at the Temple just before midday on the day of the fire festival. Can you work with that?"

That was a week away. "We'll be there."

"Thank you." All the teasing fell off the Deacon's face and he held out his hand. Almost against his will, Bucky took it, and the Deacon's grip was strong. "Thank you for your help. It's a good thing you're doing for us. For all of us. The gods remember those who reach out to act for others, especially when it's not easy." One last squeeze and he let go. "You'll let me know if something happens and you can't make it?"

"I will."

"Oh, and one last thing."

 _What else could you possibly want?_ "Yes?"

"Given what you just about called me," a quick grin came and went, "maybe you could think about calling me Sam?"

Bucky stared at him again. He'd never met a Deacon he could call by their first name. Never. But this was not a normal Deacon. He hung his head in defeat. "Sam."

"There you go."

 

* * *

 

It cost him endless teasing and a few hours of being called Prelate Barnes, but no one cared about him going. He headed over to Steve's camp, calls of _Your Grace_ , and _Your Reverend_ , and _What the damnation do you call a Rassophore anyway?_ trailing after him. Just as he'd thought, Steve was happy to go with him.

"It's a good thing you're doing, Bucky."

Bucky shrugged. "It wasn't like I could say no."

Steve smiled, bumped his shoulder against Bucky's, and said, "Your turn?"

With a nod, Bucky grabbed the book, settled next to Steve, and started to read.

 

* * *

 

The day after tomorrow he'd be serving the Temple as he brought the unicorns forth to act as conduits to the gods.

Today he was sitting in the passenger seat of a ute, bouncing through the preserve on his way to call them to the hunt so the hunters could kill them.

Bucky wasn't paying a lot of attention, too busy trying to reconcile those two facts in his head. No matter how he tried, they didn't want to fit together.

They'd slowed, were creeping along the dirt path, Bucky wasn't sure why, they were still a fair way away from where the last herd of the season was grazing, when a scream pierced the air.

Bucky leapt up so fast he smacked his head on the roof.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" someone bellowed, and something big crashed through the trees.

It was Steve's training that had Bucky throwing himself out of the still-moving ute, reacting before he'd fully registered what he was seeing. He hit the ground and bolted towards Jack, Jack who was running for his life, one hand clutching the front of his pants, swearing a blue streak, a lone unicorn charging after him, eyes rimmed red, horn lowered, and it was only the thickness of the trees that had kept Jack alive this long.

Bucky tore past Jack, hit the edge of the unicorn's awareness, and Jack ceased to exist. The unicorn desperately tried to stop, hooves digging grooves in the dirt, legs tangling in its desperation to get to Bucky, but then it righted itself and spun, neat as pin on well-muscled hindquarters, to trot over to Bucky.

"The gods' fucking holy testicles." Jack's chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "I was trying to take a piss and the damn thing appeared like a dammed ghost." He reached down and buttoned up, accompanied by raucous laughter. "You wouldn't think it was so damned funny if it'd tried to eat you." 

"Ah, Rollins, he wouldn't have eaten you." Brock had climbed out of the ute and was making his way over to Bucky, looking the unicorn over. "He would have trampled you, run you through a few times, trampled you a bit more. There's only one of him, so we'd probably even have been able to work out that what was left of you was you." He clapped Bucky on the shoulder. "Good job."

"Yeah, thanks, Barnes." Jack gave him a nod. Bucky nodded back, not quite sure what to do with it. It wasn't like he'd _decided_ to jump out of the ute; it'd happened too fast for that, and he'd never been in any danger. 

"Let's take a look at you," Brock said to the unicorn, who didn't react when Brock ran his hands over him, pulled his ear down to study the notches. "Looks like one of the young bastards drove you out, huh? Poor old bugger." Brock scratched his withers. "Well, happens to the best of us. So I hear."

"Good," Jack said, low and vicious. "I can't wait to cut his throat."

"No," Brock said with finality. "He stays. He's tough, he's been around for years. He'll get his strength back and then I'm sure he's gonna kick a little youngster ass." Bucky stared at Brock, trying to hide his disbelief, because Brock was still scratching the unicorn's withers and if Bucky didn't know better—and he _did_ know better; this was _Brock_ —he'd think Brock was fond of him. "He'll follow us, but leave him alive. He's thrown a lot of good foals."

Bucky glanced at Jack; he looked mutinous but he held his tongue and everyone was suddenly very busy with something else.

"Let's go." They loaded back into the vehicles, heading towards where the last herd had been spotted, the unicorn stallion following along behind Bucky, and true to Brock's word, he was still standing when the hunt was over, galloping fiercely after Bucky as they raced away from him on the bike.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter now has amazing art by the wonderful and talented alby_mangroves! I was lucky enough to win a piece from her in the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico charity auction and she brought one of my favourite scenes from this fic to life.

The sky was steel-grey, heavy with clouds, but the possibility of rain wasn't why Steve was antsy. He was hanging back, staying out of the way, because this wasn't about him. This was about the families and the children scattered across the grass. The Temple was a solid presence behind them, the low drone of the bees a gentle counterpoint to the hum of chatter from the kids. 

Steve didn't know much about kids, but he could see they were trying to be good even though they were excited, and he could tell they weren't all the same age. He guessed Sam was getting as many through their Presentation as he could while he had Bucky. Since he'd listened to Sam bemoan how little the main Temples cared about the smaller ones enough times, he wasn't surprised.

But he didn't really care about Temple politics. He didn't, if he was completely honest, even care much about excited kids being Presented. (Okay, that was kind of a lie. They were adorable bundled up in their best winter clothes, eyes wide and bright, and he was touched he got to be here to see it.)

What he really cared about, and why he was antsy, was Bucky, who'd been gone for over an hour now.

He'd been so nervous when he'd arrived at Steve's camp this morning. Jittery. Chewing his bottom lip. Steve had taken one look at him and opened his arms. Bucky had walked into them with a thump and _clung_. "I can't do this."

"You can." Bucky had shaken his head. Steve had run his hand over his hair, careful, gentle, alert to any sign Bucky was uncomfortable, but Bucky had just clung tighter. "You can, Bucky. It's easy."

"No it's not."

"It is. Sam believes in you."

"He needs me, it's not the same thing."

"He wouldn’t have asked you if he didn't believe you were the right person to do this. I believe you're the right person to do this."

"I help kill unicorns," Bucky had said into his chest.

And that was the heart of the matter, Steve knew. "Do you believe what you do is wrong?" He'd leaned back, so he could meet Bucky's eyes.

Bucky hadn't looked away and Steve had fallen into fathomless blue-grey. "No," he'd finally said on a sigh. "No. If I did, I wouldn’t do it."

"Then you can come to the gods with an honest heart, and you know that’s all they ask of any of us."

"I know." Bucky had stayed quiet in the circle of his arms, staring up at him, long and thoughtful, before he'd finally stepped back. "Thank you."

"We should go. Sam might forgive us if we're late, but he'll make us feel incredibly guilty. Trust me, it's not worth it."

Bucky had cracked a smile and Steve's heart had skipped a beat. "Anything but that." 

Sam had whisked Bucky away as soon as they'd arrived and that was the last he'd seen of him. Parents and children had started arriving, most giving him friendly nods. He guessed they'd been told who was calling the unicorns today, because none seemed surprised to see him. It had reached the point, Steve knew, where the two of them together were a fixture in most of the townsfolks' minds. He didn't think Bucky had ever noticed.

A soft whisper of sound, the chime of bells, drew him around. Sam was walking slowly forward, each step measured, and the gentle ringing was coming from him. He was serene in a way that made Steve believe he'd been touched by divinity, tranquillity surrounding him as his deep green robes brushed the grass.

The children started whispering, hushed by their parents, because behind Sam were the unicorns, and they were being led by Bucky.

But it was Bucky like he'd never seen him.

His hair was long and loose, lying over his shoulders, and he was dressed in white that gleamed as it caught the light. He was beautiful, ethereal, he looked like he belonged with the unicorns who were following him, and Steve was struck all over again by how much he loved him. The unicorns were majestic, graceful, two foals prancing excitedly around the adults, but each one was gazing at Bucky like he was their salvation.

Steve could empathise.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had known he couldn't do this. He'd known it.

He'd woken this morning after a fitful night's sleep filled with dark dreams he couldn't recall, but every one had ended in blood and he'd known he couldn't do this.

He called unicorns to the hunt, he called them to be killed. He couldn't call them for the gods above.

It didn't keep him from getting up, from getting dressed, from putting one foot in front of the other as he walked the path from Hydra's camp to Steve's.

And then Steve had made it better. Steve had held him tight and Bucky had clung to him, face buried in Steve's chest, and admitted he couldn't do this and Steve had made it better. Steve believed in him and, gods help him, if Steve believed in him he could do it. Warmth had stolen through him, creeping through his bones and his skin, suffusing every inch of him, and it was Steve. Steve's arms around him, Steve holding him tight, and it was nothing but good.

He hadn't wanted to let go. He'd wanted to stay there, safe and warm in the circle of Steve's arms, but no. He couldn't. He had a job to do.

The trip down from the preserve into town was quiet, still, the two of them on Steve's bike, and Bucky rested his cheek against Steve's back and closed his eyes. 

Sam was waiting at the front of the Temple and Bucky found himself hustled away from Steve, who'd caught his hand and squeezed once before Sam led Bucky into the small building. 

"Are you still okay to do this?" Sam asked.

Bucky nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"You need me to be, don't you?"

"I do, but only if you actually are okay. If it's too much, then you don't have to go through with it."

"No, I'm okay." And he was, thanks to Steve.

"Thank the gods above." Sam breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. "If I had to put them off again, I think the parents were going to start considering human sacrifice as an alternative." He grinned, eyes dancing, and Bucky couldn't help a little snort of laughter. "Here's the part you're probably not going to like."

"Because I've been singing with joy about all of it up to this point," he responded dryly. Instead of answering, Sam pulled a pile of shimmering white cloth out of a cupboard and held it out. Bucky gave Sam a long-suffering look. "Really?"

"Really."

He took it and shook it out. Shook _them_ out: pants and a shirt. They were both white, shimmering with a subtle silvery pattern of leaves and flowers, a touch of lace at the shirt cuffs and along the collar. "Do I at least get to wear my boots?"

In answer Sam set a pair of soft white suede boots on the floor in front of him.

"I'm going to look like a Temple Virgin."

"That's the point. Get changed so I can fix your hair," Sam said and stepped out of the building.

Bucky stripped out of his clothes and pulled on the new ones. They were at least soft, the material silky against his skin. "What's wrong with my hair?" he asked when Sam knocked. "And you can come in."

"Nothing, and if you want it to stay like that, that's fine. But..."

Bucky dropped to sit on a bench to pull the boots on. They fit surprisingly well. He lifted his foot to check the sole and, yes, there was a tiny sigil, one he'd seen before, to ensure they'd fit whoever needed to wear them. "But it's not very Temple Virgin."

"No."

"If we're doing this we may as well do it all. Do what you need to with my hair."

Sam smiled approvingly. "Thank you. And you look good. No one's going to be able to tell the difference between you and someone sent down from one of the cities."

"Except they'll recognise me. Louth isn't that big."

"It's going to be fine, Bucky."

He braced himself for Sam's touch—nothing had changed, he hadn't changed, touch was still something to be avoided unless it was Steve, Steve didn't count, Steve was different, Steve's was good—but it was efficient, impersonal, as he pulled out Bucky's ponytail, combed his hair out to lie over his shoulders, and—Bucky closed his eyes in resignation—wove tiny pink and yellow flowers around his crown.

When Sam was done he offered Bucky a small piece of mirrored glass. Bucky took it, stared at himself, and the wildly out of place, horribly disturbing thought sprang unbidden to mind that if Arnim Zola could see him now he'd offer Bucky all the money in the world. It didn't make him shudder. Steve was standing, like a particularly large and imposing wall— _like an unsheathed blade_ —between Bucky and the memory. But no one could look at Bucky right now and think anything but _virgin_.

"If Deaconing doesn't work out for you," Bucky said, handing back the glass. "You could probably make a decent living doing people's hair."

"What makes you think I haven't already?" Bucky stared at him, Sam grinned, and Bucky had to laugh. "All we need now are some unicorns."

 

* * *

 

They climbed into Sam's ute, Bucky in his Outfit of Virginity, which he called it just to see a Deacon roll his eyes, and Sam in his formal robes, deep green with the edges traced in silver. It didn't take long to find a herd, and Sam left him and drove back to the Temple.

The herd was small: a stallion, a couple of yearling stallions not yet driven out, and a handful of mares, two with half grown foals, idly grazing around a deep pond, not far from where they'd found the injured unicorn.

The stallion heard him before Bucky reached the edge of their awareness and came out snorting, ears back, pawing the ground, rearing and shaking his head, deadly horn gleaming. The others stood, heads raised, alert, the foals pushed to the middle. They were ready to fight or run, depending on the threat, except Bucky got close enough and it all melted away.

They relaxed, began trotting towards him, the stallion the first to reach him, and he pressed his head against Bucky's chest. The others gathered close, the foals, who even half-grown had heads nearly as high as Bucky's shoulder, leaned into him. The others got as close as they could, reaching out with soft noses to nudge him, to gently lip at his hands, his shirt, to whuffle his hair.

It wasn't what Bucky was used to. The herds that came through the preserve didn't react like this. They got close, but they never tried to touch him, they weren't affectionate, and he wondered if a century of being hunted had somehow changed them.

Bucky couldn't help himself. He scratched behind ears, rubbed noses, stroked necks and ruffled the foal's half-fluffy manes, returning the affection. Not for long, they had to go, there were children waiting, and they surrounded him as he led them to the Temple.

Sam was waiting when he arrived, jingling slightly. At Bucky's look, he explained, "Bells on my ankles. It's traditional." He waved at the unicorns. "The foals are good luck. Can I?" He pointed at Bucky's head. Bucky nodded and Sam fiddled with his hair, readjusting it, tucking flowers back in place, smoothing it to lie over his shoulders. "There. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Follow me."

He followed, and the unicorns followed him, and there were children waiting with their parents, fewer children than unicorns, thank the gods above, because he wasn't sure how they would have managed that. The children were whispering, excited, and one or two were bouncing in place, but the only person he really noticed was Steve.

Sam was talking, reciting the traditional words, but it was Steve Bucky was paying attention to. Steve, who was deliberately trying to fade into the background, but to Bucky he was like a glowing beacon. He looked worried and Bucky knew that was for him. Bucky wanted to do something to reassure him, but he suddenly had to pay attention again.

The kids needed a unicorn. He wasn’t actually sure how to do this, but it couldn't be that difficult. As ludicrous as it was having a hunters' virgin doing this, he knew there were no special Temple powers involved. Unicorns were simply mesmerised by virgins. So all he should have to do... He led the unicorns forward to the first child, wrapped his hands around the muzzle of one of the mares, and gently urged her towards the child. The little girl stepped forward and, suddenly and all at once, the mare's fixation snapped from Bucky to her.

He did it again and again, until every child had a unicorn, then led the leftovers off to the side, where they'd be out of the way. As he waited with the unicorns, his gaze drifted to Steve, trying not to stare at him, but Steve must have sensed him watching and he looked up, still looking worried. Bucky tried to send him reassurance: _I'm fine. I'm okay. This is okay._ It must have worked, because Steve's worry faded, shoulders dropping, body relaxing, showing all the little signs of a content Steve that Bucky knew so well.

Then it was time to gather the unicorns up, recapturing their attention and leading them off, the hardest part of that staying solemn-faced at how reluctant the children were to surrender their unicorns.

Then things got strange, as the parents stopped to thank him as they left. He stood, surrounded by the unicorns, and they were saying thank you for doing this, thank you for not making my son have to wait another year, this was the last year my daughter could be Presented, thank you.

Bucky wanted to say: You remember who I am, right? The guy who usually calls unicorns to the hunt? To be killed? But he politely said _You're welcome_ and _No problem_ and _Happy to do it_. Eventually it stopped because they all went away.

He leaned on the stallion, who rested his chin on Bucky's shoulder, but he really would have preferred to lean on Steve and let the world disappear for a while.

When Steve made his way over Bucky didn't give in to the urge, mostly because Sam was with him, still jingling softly.

"You okay?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Bucky replied.

"What was that about at the end? With the parents."

"They were thanking me."

"I told you," Sam said.

"Yes, Deacon." Bucky tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but he didn't try very hard.

"You know, that sounded a lot more respectful before you started calling me Sam."

"Hey, you asked for it," Bucky said, and Steve tried to hide a smile.

"I feel like maybe I did," Sam said, sounding resigned, but there was laughter in his eyes.

"Is there anything else you need Bucky for?" Steve asked.

"No, all that's left is get him back into his own clothes and get the unicorns back where they belong."

"I can get your clothes," Steve said, eyeing the unicorns gathered around Bucky. "Since you probably don't want them in the Temple. Then we can take them back."

"Good plan. I'll wait here with my new friends," Bucky said. 

Sam watched Steve head for the Temple building, then turned to Bucky. "Thank you."

Bucky shifted uncomfortably.

"I mean it. You saw what it meant to them, to have their kids Presented, what it meant to the kids themselves. I know I put the hard word on you to do it, and I know you weren't really sure about going through with it, but you came through for us. The gods above will know it, and they'll remember it, but I know that's not why you did it."

"No."

"You did it because it was the right thing to do."

Bucky patted the shoulder of the closest unicorn, avoiding Sam's eyes.

"Okay, I'll stop. And if you don't need me, I should probably go. They're expecting me at the festival grounds to bless the fires, just about everything that doesn't move, possibly some things that do move and, I don't know, the birds flying past, maybe the clouds in the sky. They can get a little overzealous and they really don't want it to rain. Unless you want me to stay?"

"No, Steve and me can manage."

"Manage what?" Steve asked as returned, Bucky's clothes and boots bundled under one arm.

"Getting the unicorns back. Sam has to go bless things."

"We'll be fine."

"You're coming to the festival?" Sam asked.

"Of course."

"I might see you both there, then."

They made their farewells and Sam hurried off, then Steve handed Bucky his clothes. "Do you want me to go somewhere else?"

"No, just turn around." Steve did, and Bucky changed into his own clothes with a happy sigh. Steve returned the silvery white outfit to the Temple building, detouring on the way back to get his bike.

"Where are we taking them?" he asked as Bucky climbed onto the back of the bike.

"Down near where we found the unicorn. With Sam. Remember where that is?"

"I remember."

Steve rode slowly and the unicorns cantered after them, heads high and tails flagged, like Bucky was leading them on an adventure. The foals were racing around the bike, circling Bucky, rearing and dancing, full of life, and Bucky rested his chin on Steve's shoulder, his arms around Steve's waist, watching them. It was like nothing he'd ever seen.

When they neared the lake Steve briefly touched his hand and said, "Ready?"

"Ready."

The bike leapt forward, smooth and quiet, leaving the unicorns behind. Bucky didn't look back.

 

* * *

 

"How are you doing?" Steve asked when they pulled into Louth.

Bucky leaned back, looked up into the sky, and admitted, "I'm not sure."

"I'm not surprised. Know what you need?" He twisted around and Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "Food."

His stomach chose that moment to let out a grumble. "Being clever again?"

"Something like that." Steve gave Bucky a gentle nudge and he climbed off the bike. Steve followed. "My plan is to buy you lunch, then we can go watch them set up the festival grounds."

"Why are you the one buying lunch? Shouldn't it be me buying you lunch, since you're the one who did me the favour of coming with me today?"

"Nope."

"Nope?"

"That's right, nope."

"You don't have any, I don't know, _reasons_ to go with that nope?"

"Nope. You don't need reasons when you're right."

"Is there any point in arguing with you on this one?"

Steve grinned. "Nope."

"Fine. This once, just this once, I'm letting you get away with that. But never again."

"Whatever you say, Buck." Bucky narrowed his eyes at him and Steve gazed back innocently. "Come on, lunch."

They ended up sitting on a pile of unused lumber, just outside the festival grounds, eating piping hot meat pies and watching the festival take shape. Preparation had been going on for days, so these were the last finishing touches. Stalls being loaded with food, the fires being stacked with wood while mages supervised. People were rushing everywhere, random outbreaks of franticness showing where something wasn't going according to plan. Above it all the iron-grey sky cast a menacing pall, but no one appeared to be taking it seriously.

Bucky was very full, and very sleepy, and he leaned against Steve, eyes half-lidded, lethargic and content. "It turned out okay."

"What did?"

"The Presentation. It turned out okay."

"It did."

"I was worried."

"No," Steve said, gentle sarcasm, and Bucky butted his head against Steve's shoulder.

"Ass."

"Sometimes."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For making it okay."

There was a long silence, long enough Bucky wasn't sure why it was there, and then Steve said, "Always, Bucky. If I can ever make something better for you, I will. You don't have to thank me."

It caught at him, the simplicity of Steve's words wrapped around the size of them. He knew Steve meant it. "I kind of think I do," he said softly.

Steve hummed in the back of his throat, but only said, "You look tired. Why don't you get some rest?"

"I'm fine." His eyes were getting heavier. He let them close. "This doesn't mean you're right."

"Course it doesn't."

He woke an hour or two later, curled against Steve, a heavy weight draped around his shoulders, warmth under his cheek. He opened his eyes. His head was on Steve's chest, Steve's arm was wrapped around his shoulders. The festival below was in full swing. The air was chilly but he was warm. Physically, because Steve was warm, but more, there was a warmth inside him, a tiny ember, and that came from Steve, too. He didn't know what to do with it. He shifted, so Steve would know he was awake, and Steve let his arm fall away. Bucky missed it immediately.

He sat up, stretched and yawned, and saw a question in Steve's eyes, but he wrapped his fingers around Steve's arm, squeezing gently, and it faded. "Festival?" he asked.

Steve grinned at him. "Festival."

It was loud and crowded, a riot of sounds and colours. Bucky bought them both strong, black tea flavoured with cinnamon and honey, and he could feel it working its magic, waking him up.

There were a million things to do and see, all things Steve would have seen before, but Steve stayed right by his side, letting him lead the way. Bucky entered a contest to guess the weight of a truly gigantic gourd, bigger than Steve's chest, and to guess how many dried peas were packed into a jar. They bought mulled cider and then Bucky dragged Steve over to bob for apples.

"No," Steve said.

"It'll be fun."

"Shoving your face into a barrel of freezing water to chase an apple with your _mouth_ doesn't sound like fun."

Bucky poked him and said, "Fine. Then you can hold my hair." He gave the woman a coin and hovered over the barrel, eyeing the apples bobbing gently in the water. Steve gathered up Bucky's hair as Bucky watched the apples, lined up, and then struck like a swooping hawk, Steve moving with him.

He came up clutching an apple in his mouth, grinning triumphantly. It got him a round of applause and he bowed, teeth sunk deep into the apple so he wouldn't lose it. Steve let go of his hair and laughed at him.

Bucky bit down hard, caught the apple when it fell, and said, around a mouthful of apple, "You're juth jealouth you don' hath an apple."

"That's exactly what I am. Jealous."

Bucky huffed at him, handed Steve his apple, wiped his face, and took his apple back. As they resumed walking, he said, "Give me your knife." When Steve handed it over, he cut the apple in half and gave the unbitten half to Steve, along with his knife. "There, happy now?"

Steve grinned at him and took a bite.

They crunched their way through the crowds, making their way towards the illusionists, when a sudden rush of laughing people nearly knocked Bucky off his feet. Steve caught him around the waist and pulled him close, and Bucky leaned on him until they were past.  

Bucky didn't guess the weight of the gourd, and he was off on the dried peas by over twenty-three, but what he would have done with a giant gourd or five hundred and forty-seven peas he didn't know, so it was probably just as well. 

 

* * *

 

The afternoon passed in a blur of laughter and sound, and every time Bucky turned, to grin at Steve, to tell him something, to point out a stall or a display or the next thing he wanted to look at, or to simply check in, to make sure he was still there, he'd get caught for a moment in the startling blue of Steve's eyes—because Steve was always looking back.

As the sun set and the iron-grey sky darkened, the cry went up, calling people to the fires.

There were four of them, taller than Bucky, arranged in a rough circle, and the crowds jostled and pushed and scuffled to get closer. Steve took one look at them and settled his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I know a better spot."

"Lead the way." 

They wound up on a small rise, sharing it with a copse of spindly trees but no other fairgoers. "Everyone wants to be right next to the fires. Or maybe they want to be first in line for the honey mead." Bucky laughed. "But you can see just fine from up here. This is where I always watch them."

"Not last year," Bucky pointed out.

"No." The corner of Steve's mouth ticked up. "Last year I had somewhere better to be."

Warm, Bucky was warm and his chest was tight. He didn't know what was wrong with him. The people around the fires began to still until, as the day finally gave way to night, they stood in complete silence.

There was no light, no sound. No stars. Bucky could have been all alone in the world except he could feel Steve next to him. Hear him breathing. He reached out and caught Steve's hand, twined their fingers together, and held on. The silence rose and swirled and the whole world held its breath. Bucky felt an answering silence rising inside him, huge and powerful, pressing against his ribs. His heart beat faster. Steve was a solid presence beside him, and he almost understood and...

He gasped as all four fires flared to life in an explosion of colour, fracturing the darkness with flares of red and orange, of yellow and white. Steve squeezed his hand and he swallowed hard. The flames curled high into the night sky, casting light onto their little hill, and Bucky turned towards Steve.

The fire painted Steve's skin gold, drew flickering shadows across the planes of his face. It felt like he was seeing Steve for the first time, all his familiar comfort cast in a new light. His beauty caught at Bucky's throat. This was new. This was entirely new. This was...

Bucky clenched Steve's hand as it crashed down on him. As he suddenly understood. He'd never expected this. He'd thought, he'd thought whatever was—not wrong with him, he'd let go of thinking there was something wrong with him when a gentle voice had said _balance, Bucky_ —but whatever he was, he'd thought it meant he'd never feel this.

He'd thought he _couldn’t_ feel this.

"Bucky?" Steve was staring down at him, concerned.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to answer. His heart felt so big he was afraid it was going to burst out through his ribs. All he could do was stare up at Steve, awed, helpless, as this feeling, this thing he'd never thought he could feel, engulfed him.

Steve's eyes changed, went soft, warm, like Steve had heard what Bucky couldn’t say, and Bucky was falling into them. He lifted the hand Bucky wasn't clinging to like a lifeline and skimmed a finger along his cheek. Bucky could feel the question in it. Words were beyond him, so he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, the only answer he could give.

Steve cradled his jaw, thumb stroking slow arcs across his cheek, and moved closer, turning his head to brush his nose against Bucky's temple, his breath ruffling Bucky's hair, and it flowed into his heart, his soul, mingling with that unexpected, unfamiliar feeling, pulling at him to reach out for Steve, because Steve's touch felt like coming home.

He opened his eyes. Steve's were very close, and even in the reflected firelight Bucky thought he saw an echo of what was beating through his own heart. He sucked in a sudden breath, shock, surprise, because he wanted to kiss Steve. _He wanted to kiss Steve._ For the first time in his life he wanted to kiss someone and it was Steve. Steve's fingers curled, settling behind his jaw, and it would be easy for him to pull Bucky closer, but he wouldn't. Bucky knew, the way he knew the sun would rise, that Steve wouldn't. It would have to be Bucky. All he had to do was lean forward. Press his lips to Steve's. And then...

And then.

Reality crept in on cold paws and curled up in his stomach.

And then...nothing. Because urge to kiss Steve or not, he was still himself. There was nothing he could offer after that.

Bucky slowly leaned back. "You know I don't. I can't."

"Bucky." Steve's voice was as gentle as his touch. "It's not about sex. I've got," he could see Steve testing words, discarding them, before settling on, "feelings for you."

Heartache swirled through him. "But that's what it turns into," he said quietly, looking down at their joined hands. "That's what it's all for, all the touching and the kissing. It's for sex."

"It doesn't have to be."

Steve's eyes were earnest and deep and suddenly Bucky was scared. Not of Steve, never of Steve, of _himself_. Because it wasn't safe to want this. It wasn't safe to feel this. It had been simpler when he thought he couldn’t, because he didn't get to have this. It couldn't work. No one would be happy with what Bucky could offer, with someone who started things they could never finish.

Bucky slowly moved backwards, gently freeing his hand from Steve's, and Steve's hand fell from his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" He shook his head. "Sorry."

"Bucky. There's nothing to be sorry for."

He dredged a smile up from somewhere and wondered if it looked as fake as it felt. "Maybe, maybe it'd be better if we didn't see each other for a while."

Steve looked stricken, but he stayed where he was. "How long is awhile?"

"I don't know."

He glanced back as he walked away. Steve was standing, rimmed in gold-red light from the fires, watching him. Bucky felt guilty and cold and very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, alby_mangroves, for the incredible art! [Reblog or follow her on Tumblr!](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/post/173816203509/hed-thought-he-couldnt-feel-this-all-he-could)


	15. Chapter 15

The morning dawned dark and cold, as if the gods above had looked down at Bucky, drowning in guilt and confusion and sadness, missing Steve like he'd miss his arm if he lost it, and said: let's make it worse.

The skies opened, a torrent of water poured down, and it didn't stop. The ground, already saturated from the unseasonably heavy rains, couldn't hold it and water flowed across the ground, running away down the hills of the preserve towards the river.

The rain was so heavy it turned the days dark. Trying to get between the vans and the meal hall was a stumbling, soaking mess, the ground turned to mud and puddles and misery.

Most of the hunters stayed in the meal hall. They were trapped in camp by the weather, no one could leave, their plans to escape to somewhere warm—their plans to escape at all—undone by the weather, tempers were fraying, but they still seemed to prefer being together, playing cards and giving each other shit, to being isolated.

Bucky stayed in his van as much as he could. He knew Steve would be okay. His camp was higher than Hydra's and they were in no danger of flooding.

_Steve._

He poked at his new feelings, veering between wonder, confusion, hopelessness, taking a sideways trip into anger, because he never asked for this. He'd been happy with what they'd had. Why did this have to happen?

Maybe it was temporary. Maybe it wasn't what he'd thought.

He couldn't hold onto that for long. It faded like the anger. He wasn't stupid and he'd never been good at lying to himself. He knew what it was. Even though he'd never felt it, even though he'd spent most of his life believing he _couldn’t_ feel it, here he was. Feeling it. For Steve.

Bucky laughed, quiet and rueful and resigned, and leaned back against the wall of the van. He'd been wrong, hadn't he? He'd assumed no sex meant no love. That because he couldn't feel one that meant he couldn’t feel the other.

"Does that make me stupid or would anyone have thought the same thing?" he asked the ceiling. A roll of thunder answered him. If it was an actual answer, it was one he couldn't understand.

All he knew was that there was the rest of the world, full of people he didn't want touching him, and there was Steve. Whose touch had become comfort and warmth and safety and something more, something complicated he didn't quite have words for, but he wanted to feel again. He wanted Steve to hold him and touch him—Bucky pressed his hand against his cheek, against his temple—and he wanted to touch Steve _._ And he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Steve. For the first time in his life he wanted to know what that felt like.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was ridiculous. It wasn't getting him anything except more miserable. He needed to go to Steve, to apologise, to explain...something. He'd have to come up with something. Maybe he could just be honest. Say that he'd liked Steve's touch and it had surprised him and that's why he'd overreacted and leave out the rest. Steve would understand. Probably.

Bucky resolutely avoided thinking about Steve saying he had feelings for him. He couldn't think about that, because...because it was only going to hurt too much if he let himself think about it. Because he wasn't ever going to get to have that.

Steve had listened to him and he'd thought there was nothing wrong with him, but no one, not even Steve, was going to be happy with what Bucky could offer. Steve liked sex, he'd said so himself, and once Steve thought about it, really understood what it meant that Bucky didn't, he'd figure that out. Two people being together meant certain things, expectations he couldn't meet, things he couldn't give, no matter how he felt. So he didn't get to have this. It was as simple as that.

 

* * *

 

It rained and it rained and it kept raining until finally, on the fifth day, the afternoon so dark it may as well have been night, it finally stopped. It didn't taper off, didn't ease gradually from torrential to downpour to drizzle. It simply stopped, like a forgotten tap had finally been remembered and turned off. Frayed tempers on the edge of snapping knit themselves back together as everyone squelched across the muddy ground to survey the camp.

Brock sent Jack down to check on the road into town and started everyone else on assessing the damage.

There wasn't much. The camp was in good shape, soaked through, everything damp and chilly with the promise of future mold if it didn't dry out quickly, but the buildings, the vans, the sheds and vehicles, they'd held up well.

Bucky tilted his head towards the sky, letting the pale light of the barely visible sun wash over his skin, and all he wanted was to see Steve. His chest was tight, with nerves, with, gods above, with _love,_ and it was so stupid and it was only going to hurt, but still, all he wanted was Steve.

He was knocked out of his thoughts by Jack's shout of, "Rumlow!" as he rode back into camp and hopped off the bike. "Rumlow!" he called again.

"What?" Brock was scowling, hands full of damp papers, and he looked both unhappy at being interrupted and more than willing to visit that unhappiness on someone else.

"You need to see this."

"What I need to see is dry paperwork. What I need to see is whether or not we can get into town. What I need to see is people who do what they're told. Are any of those what you want to show me?"

"No." Jack was practically hopping from foot to foot and Brock's eyebrows slowly rose. "The bridge is completely under water, anyone trying to get across it is going to drown. But trust me, you'll want to see this."

Brock heaved a sigh, shoved the paperwork into the hands of the nearest hunter, and climbed on the bike behind Jack. It kicked up a spray of mud as Jack took off.

When they came back, Brock was grinning. He whistled, long and sharp, demanding attention. Slowly, the hunters gathered around him. They weren't quiet; there was a lot of muttered complaining about the wet and the mud, but they settled when Brock said, "Everyone shut up. Wanda, how long can you hold the preserving sheds' spells if they're packed to the brim?"

"A week, maybe more. Why?"

"That should be long enough."

She and Pietro shared a complicated look. "Again: why?" she asked

"I know we've been bitching about the rain, but it's turned out to be an actual genuine blessing from the gods above, because our herds may have migrated away but it looks like every other unicorn in a who-knows-how-many-mile-radius decided to head for higher ground." He paused, looking around, like he was waiting. All he got were blank looks and he heaved a sigh. "And the preserve is the highest ground around."

Bucky could track the understanding as it passed around the group. They stood taller, eyes wide, grinning, elbowing each other. Brock made a _there you go_ gesture and Carmilla asked, "How many?"

"What do you think, Rollins? Must be close to two hundred head?"

"About that. There's a lot of foals, so it was hard to get a good count."

"Two _hundred_ unicorns." Jasmine let out a low whistle. "Gods above."

"And we're taking all of them. The bonuses Hydra's going to hand out are gonna make every one of you, and it's not like you were going anywhere anyway. Now that the rain's stopped, there's no way of knowing how long they'll stay. We go out at dawn. Start unpacking. We're going to need everything, every piece of back-up gear, the old stuff we don't use anymore, anything you can dig out." The hunters broke away, talking excitedly. Wanda had a hushed, rapid-fire exchange with Pietro before she headed for the processing sheds and he joined the other hunters.

Bucky was cold. Two hundred wasn't a hunt. It was a slaughter. And foals. They never killed foals. That was the whole point, leaving them alive for the next generation. He walked over to Brock, who was talking to Jack, the two looking down at a damp notebook Brock was scribbling figures in. "You don't do this."

"Do what?" Brock asked, not looking up.

"Kill them all. Mares and foals, all of them. You're careful, you plan."

"I didn't see any ear notches," Jack said.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It means they're not Hydra's. Ours are long gone." Brock looked up from the notebook. "If any have ear notches, we'll leave 'em. Is that what you're worried about?"

Bucky stared at him. "No."

"Then what's the problem? Your job is to call unicorns to the hunt. Suddenly these ones are special?"

"Yes." It felt like a chasm was opening up beneath his feet, what he'd thought was true twisting away from him. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean," he took a deep breath, because getting angry was going to get him exactly nowhere, "I mean I've seen your records. _You_ taught me about herd management. You, Hydra, you're caretakers. You make the herds _better_. You don't just kill them all. This isn't what you do."

The only word Bucky had to describe the expression on Brock's face was baffled. "What does that have to do with anything? These ones aren't Hydra's. The rains drove 'em up here and off their migration routes. Picking and choosing and leaving a bunch alive isn't going to do anything except cost us a kill. The only impact they're going to have on Hydra's future is the part where we kill them, Hydra makes a huge profit, and we get a nice bonus. We won't touch any with ear notches, but the rest of them are going under the knife."

"You really don't care about them. About slaughtering them."

"I really don't. I don't understand why you suddenly do. So if you're finished with whatever this is, I have shit to get done. This'll be the biggest hunt this team has ever handled and I need to make sure they don't screw it up."

Bucky steeled himself, took a deep breath, and said, "No it won't."

"Yeah, it will. We've never had a haul like this and it's going to take some damn luck to pull it off without wasting anything."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you—" Brock stopped. Stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Barnes." Bucky lifted his chin. "You don't want to do this."

"You're right, I don't." He didn't, he really didn't, but he was going to. He couldn't be part of this. He wouldn’t be. Without him, it couldn’t happen.

"But you're going to."

"Yeah."

"It's that fucking Warden, isn't it? I knew you were spending too much time with him and his gods be damned fucking righteous attitude."

"No. This one's all on me."

"You know I'm not going to let you stop the hunt. There's too much riding on it for Hydra. For all of us."

Bucky suddenly understood that he should have kept his mouth shut. He should have kept his mouth shut and let Brock think everything was fine, but it was too late. He braced himself, shifting his stance the way Steve had taught him, and had the momentary pleasure of seeing Brock's surprise, but Brock wasn't the one he needed to worry about. Jack was behind him, had grabbed Bucky, pinned his arms, dragged him back, immobilising him against his body, and Bucky lost a moment, freezing at the feel of Jack's hands on him, of Jack's body against his. When he tried to fight it was too late, but the way Jack moved, how much stronger he was, Bucky realised it always would have been pointless.

"Luckily I don't need your cooperation." Brock was cold, his voice was cold. "Wanda!" he bellowed. She appeared, looking between them with narrowed eyes. "I need the mage-lock back on his door."

"Same as before?" she asked and any thought of enlisting her aid faded. Any thought of rallying the others to help followed as he realised they all knew what was happening, if the careful and obvious way they _weren't_ watching was any indication.

He was alone. He glared at Brock. "You're an asshole. And you," he shot a glare at Jack, "I should have let the unicorn kill you." Jack ignored him, eyes on Brock, waiting for instructions.

"Toss him in his van."

Jack marched him to his van, shoved him inside, and slammed the door. Seconds later there was a flare of brilliant light. "You'll stay in there until morning," Brock said. "I'll come and get you and you will come on the hunt. I don't care if I have to truss you up and drag you."

"Fuck you, Brock." He kicked the door while his heart pounded. There was no answer. He sat on his bed and stared at his sock drawer. The charm Steve had gotten for him all those months ago was right where he'd left it.

He'd kept it because Steve had gotten it for him, he'd kept it because it was the first time he'd really trusted Steve. He hadn't ever expected to need it again. Brock had said _I need the mage-lock back on his door_ and Wanda had said _Same as before?_ If it was the same lock, if he could get out...

But even if he could get out, what could he do? Even if he could get to a vehicle he couldn't get to town. The bridge was under water and he wasn't willing to risk his life.

Could he hide in the preserve? No, he'd have to hide for days and even if Hydra didn't find him, there were too many unicorns. If the unicorns found him they'd be helpless; he may as well go on the hunt. He couldn’t risk it. There had to be something. He couldn't let himself be used to kill them. He refused to let them die.

Everything he'd believed about Hydra and hunting and unicorns had been wrong. Brock didn't give a damn about doing the least amount of harm, he only cared about Hydra, and these unicorns were going to pay for it. It was wrong. They weren't supposed to be here. They'd come here seeking safety from the rains and walked right into death and there was nothing—

 _Oh._ There was one thing. Bucky stared at nothing, letting the idea take shape. It'd work. If he could go through with it, it'd work. Was that a price he was willing to pay? _Yeah, yeah I think I am._ He swallowed hard. There was only one person he could ask.

Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe none of it would matter. Maybe the charm wouldn't work.

He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Hydra preparing for the hunt. When it was quiet outside, when the last sound died away, he cautiously approached his door, charm in hand.

It worked.

Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible. Steve touching him was good. Maybe even when he was touching him in ways that made Bucky's skin crawl to think about it would be okay because it was Steve.

No. He knew it wouldn't be. But Steve wouldn't hurt him, his faith in that was stronger than his faith in the gods above, however blasphemous that might be, and he'd survive. The unicorns couldn't say the same.

 

* * *

 

Steve was sitting at his table, equipment spread out in front of him, carefully going over it. For the second time. Having been cooped up while the rains did their best to wash the preserve away meant he'd run out of things to do, and his van was already spotless.

He'd spent most of the time trying not to think about Bucky. Trying not to miss him. Trying not to go over every moment from the lighting of the fires, trying to work out what he could have done better. He should have been stronger, should have said more. But his heart had broken a little and taken his words with it when Bucky had said that touching and kissing was only a way to get to sex, like it wasn't something that was good all on its own.

What he should have said was _I love you and I don't give the gods own damn about sex_ , _I just want to be with you_ not _I have feelings for you_. Idiot. No wonder Bucky had run off. Now he had to wait for Bucky, because he wouldn't push in when Bucky had asked to him to stay away, no matter how much he missed him.

Steve sighed and went back to checking the stitching on the sheath of his knife.

The knock on the door was a surprise. His heart leapt, because at this hour there was only one person it could be, but he wrestled it backed down.

He couldn’t keep the joy off his face when he saw Bucky standing outside the van, but it faded as he got a good look at him. He was pale and his eyes were too wide as he stared up at Steve, jaw working. "Bucky," he said, concerned, and it was all he could do not to reach out and pull him into a hug. Which would be about the worst thing he could do, given how they'd left things, no matter how much Bucky looked like he needed one. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to do something for me. And I'm sorry," his eyes skittered to meet Steve's and away, "but there's no one else I can ask."

"Anything, you know that."

"I told you that was going to come back on you some day," Bucky said under his breath and a nervous smile flickered across his face. A bad feeling settled in Steve's gut. "I need you to, to have sex with me."

Steve's nostrils flared and then he reached out, gently caught Bucky by the forearms, pulled him inside, and kicked the door shut. "Explain."

Bucky stared at his chest, not trying to pull away, but Steve could feel tension singing in his arms. "It's not complicated. And I'm pretty sure you know what you're doing, right? You said you liked sex. With men and women, and I'm a man."

"Bucky." Steve gently squeezed his forearms. "Bucky, please look at me."

Slowly, Bucky lifted his head.

"I'm not going to have sex with you."

Bucky grasped Steve's arms tightly, and something that could have been desperation, could have been determination flashed through his eyes. "You said you'd help me. If I needed anything, you said. I need this."

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Tell me what's going on. Please." He took a chance and gently rubbed Bucky's arms, his thumbs drawing circles on his skin. He felt Bucky's tension ease slightly and his shoulders slumped.

"You know how there's no more unicorns in the preserve because they've all migrated away?"

"Yes," Steve said cautiously.

"That's not right anymore. All the rain, the river's broken its banks, it's over the bridge, I guess there's flooding, or they think there's going to be, or I don't know how unicorns think." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "All I know is about two hundred of them have decided the preserve is nice safe high ground and Brock's going to kill them for it. All of them. Mares, foals, entire herds. They're not supposed to be here, they were never supposed to be here, they came here to be safe and Brock's going to kill them all."

It made a perfect, horrible kind of sense. "And if you're not a virgin, they can't use you to do it."

"Yeah." Bucky sounded weary, now; resigned. "I can't get to town, because the bridge is cut. I thought of hiding in the preserve, but it could be days and either they'd find me or the unicorns would, and then Hydra would have their hunt anyway. There's nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, but if you have sex with me the unicorns get to live."

Steve's fingers flexed on Bucky's arms, tightening, but Bucky didn't seem to notice.

"Maybe it doesn't make any sense, all the unicorns I've helped Hydra kill, but this is different. This isn't doing the least amount of harm, and turns out I was wrong about that, too. Brock doesn't give a damn about any of that. All he cares about is Hydra. But Steve, this is _slaughter._ I can't, I won't, help. By the time they track down another virgin, or get another one down here from one of their other camps, the unicorns should be back where they belong." Bucky was almost pleading with him. "They don't need my cooperation, they just need me to be a virgin, so I need to stop being that."

"No, you don't." The answer was simple. "Stay here. Stay with me. I won't let them take you anywhere."

Bucky went still, then he leaned back. His eyes had changed, were darker, deeper, and he stood straighter, lifted his chin. "No."

"Bucky."

"No. I don't know how many of them would come and try to take me back. Brock for sure and most of the others. Maybe all of them. I don't know. There's money in this for them. Big money, not just for Hydra, for all of them. Personally. Could you beat them? Maybe. Probably. But then what happens to you? I'm not a unicorn. This is nothing to do with being a Warden. What if some of them end up dead? Do you end up in prison? No." Bucky's gaze was fierce. "I won't send you to war for me."

Bucky's words rang in his heart, his bones, the sound of faith rewarded: there was no line he wouldn't cross for Bucky, but there was no line Bucky would ask him to cross. Even in the middle of this, this _nightmare_ , he couldn't help the flare of joy.

"My way," Bucky was saying. "It's just me being hurt." His eyes went wide. "I don't mean _hurt_ , I know you wouldn't hurt me. I don't—"

"Bucky. I know what you mean. And it wouldn't be just you getting hurt." The answer was suddenly there, obvious and bright. A line Bucky would never ask him to cross. Steve folded his arms around Bucky, who froze for a second, then burrowed into him, holding on tight. "What if I had another way?"

 

* * *

 

Steve's arms around him were like armour, hiding him from the rest of the world. The crawling nausea that had been climbing the back of his throat since he'd come up with this plan disappeared as he pressed his forehead against Steve's shoulder. "I don't think there is one."

Steve began rubbing slow circles on his back, easing the tension in his spine. "There is, but you'd have to trust me. Really trust me."

It bubbled up, completely inappropriate laughter that spilled out of him, left him shaking against Steve, who just kept holding him. When Bucky managed to stop he said, "Steve. I trust you. I really trust you. There's no one else in the world I trust more than you and I was a fucking idiot when I said we shouldn’t see each other. I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

"What's your other way?"

"We lure the unicorns out of the preserve. We can lead them into the hinterlands. If there's that many, their tracks will cover the bike's tire tracks."

Bucky leaned back and gaped at Steve.

"What?" Steve said. Innocently. Like he hadn't just suggested breaking, no _smashing_ , the law to pieces.

His mouth moved but no sound came out. It was the one thing that had never occurred to him. "Steve. You can't, we can't..." He trailed off. Steve was watching him, eyebrows raised slightly. "Can we?"

"If we go now, and we're smart and we're quick, I think we can."

"If we get caught it's...?"

"Not death. I'd have to look it up to get the exact number of years, but a very long time in prison. But you have to remember two things."

"What's that?"

"One, I'm the Warden, and I'm going to look the other way, and two, breaking the law's not—"

"Not the same as doing the wrong thing," Bucky finished. He laughed shakily. "How they made you a Unicorn Warden..."

"I know." Steve drew him in, giving him time to pull away, but that was the furthest thing from what Bucky wanted and he hung on tight. "But this is better than your plan. Your plan was terrible." Bucky winced and Steve cupped the back of his head, rested his forehead briefly against Bucky's. "Let's go save your unicorns."

 

* * *

 

Steve's bike was almost silent as they made their careful way through the darkness, looping far around the border of the preserve, staying far away from the Hydra camp, and pulled up near the edge of the herds. Brock hadn't exaggerated: there were hundreds of unicorns, glowing faintly in the darkness.

"Are you ready?" Steve asked.

Bucky slipped off the bike. "To break one of the biggest laws we've got? Why wouldn't I be ready for that?"

Steve squeezed his arm and Bucky started to circle around the outside of the herds. They were staying close together but there were distinct spaces, each herd holding itself apart from the others. That lasted until Bucky passed them, the unicorns flowing together into a river of white and silver, of cream and gold, his presence rippling through them like a wave.

It was almost frightening, to have so many focussed on him, but he turned and picked his way carefully back to the bike. The unicorns barely made a whisper, even on the wet ground, and he wondered how so many of them could be so quiet.

"Here." Steve took his hand, helping Bucky balance while he climbed onto the bike backwards, leaning against Steve's back so he could watch and make sure they didn't lose any.

Steve started moving slowly, the unicorns trotting after them, a gold and silver wave flowing over the muddy ground as Bucky led them to safety around the border of the preserve, heading for the hinterlands.

The edge of the preserve passed beneath them and they kept going deep into the hinterlands, across rough, rocky ground, until the preserve was miles and miles behind them. "Ready?" Steve asked, stopping the bike.

Bucky turned and wrapped his arms tightly around Steve's waist as the unicorns surged towards him. "Go."

Steve peeled out, leaving the unicorns behind. They gave chase, getting them still farther away from the preserve, but eventually they fell far enough behind they were free of Bucky's lure.


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky sat on the edge of Steve's bed and Steve handed him a cup of tea. He was wearing Steve's clothes, soft, comfortable pants and a thick, warm, wool sweater, since both of them had been covered in mud kicked up by the bike. "We're criminals," Bucky said, and took a gulp of tea. It was hot and strong and sweet and he could feel it flowing into his bones.

"Technically." Steve sat across from him on the chair.

"Technically?"

"We didn't get caught."

"I don't think it works like that."

Steve's smile was serene. "How many times do I have to tell you? There's a difference between breaking the law and doing something wrong. We didn't do anything wrong. "

Bucky stared at him and all at once he was back on the hill, standing in the dark, watching the light of the flames dance across Steve's skin, lost in the shock of suddenly understanding that he was in love. He was in love with Steve. The wonder of that washed through him, as strong as it had that night, but he shoved it way down deep where he wouldn’t have to think about it, covered it with a pointed, " _Did_ they have any idea what you were like when they made you a Warden?"

"Warden Hill said she liked my initiative." He took a long sip of tea. "So really, they've got no one to blame but themselves."

Bucky laughed softly and rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm exhausted."

"I'm not surprised. Do you know what you want to do tomorrow?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether I can ask you for one more thing."

Steve's mouth quirked. "You'll forgive me if I don't say _anything_."

Bucky winced and set his tea down. Steve had said _It wouldn’t be just you getting hurt._ "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put that on you. It was unforgivable."

"Not unforgivable. Upsetting, worrying, confusing until I figured out what was going on, but not unforgivable. You thought you were out of options."

"That didn't give me the right to ask you for that."

"There wasn't anyone else." Steve set his tea aside and leaned forward. "And Bucky? I'm gods above grateful there wasn't, because I wouldn't trust anyone else in the world with you. Not with something like that." He held out his hand. Bucky took it, and Steve's fingers closed around his, sending comfort spiralling through him. "There's nothing you can't ask me for. I'm not always going to say yes, but you can always ask."

"You might not like it."

Steve sat back, studying Bucky, not letting go of his hand. "You want to let everyone think you went through with the original plan."

Bucky nodded. "I'm done with Hydra and it'll cover both our asses if they think we were otherwise occupied. No one's going to think we were out messing with the unicorns if they think..."

"If they think we were messing with each other."

"Yeah."

"It's a solid plan. What's it going to mean for you?"

"A month's pay, but it's worth it." Anger flared in Steve's eyes, but Bucky said, "That was always the deal and I've got enough saved. I'll be fine. And," he paused, not sure how Steve was going to react, "they've been taking bets on when I'd, and I quote, finally give it up to you."

"Huh." Steve's brows pulled down. "I'm not sure how to feel about that."

"I know, but it should help sell it." Bucky stared at their joined hands for a minute, gathering his courage. "I have to apologise for something else."

"What's that?"

"For the fire festival. For how I acted. For what I said to you."

"Bucky. There's nothing to be sorry for. _I'm_ the one who should be apologising. You never asked me to start touching you like that."

"I kind of did." He met Steve's eyes, held them until Steve ducked his head in acknowledgement. "And I liked it. It felt good. It felt..." He trailed off, because he didn't know how to finish without admitting the rest. "And I _don't_ like that. I never have. But that was different. I wanted you to keep doing it. I didn't want you to stop. But," he smiled, a little ruefully, "it doesn't matter. I don't get to have that."

"Why not?"

"Because no one's going to be happy with just that." Bucky lifted his hand palm up, let it fall. "Who's going to be happy to, to touch and kiss and, I don't know, cuddle, and not get sex afterwards? No one. That's not how things work."

Steve was silent for a long time, sweeping his thumb across the back of Bucky's hand, and Bucky wanted to look away but Steve's gaze held him. When Steve finally spoke it was only two words, dropped into the silence with the weight of mountains. "I would."

"What?"

"I'd be happy to do those things with no sex afterwards."

"No you wouldn’t," he protested.

"Why not?"

Bucky opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.

"Okay, let me ask you a question. What do you think having feelings for you means?"

Bucky still didn't have any words, but his heart started beating faster.

"It means I'd be thrilled to do all those things with you." Bucky's heart stuttered as Steve rested his other hand over their joined ones, completely engulfing Bucky's. "Brace yourself." Steve leaned closer. "I love you, I have for a long time."

There was a roaring in his ears. "Oh," he managed. Bucky stared at their hands. Almost entirely of its own volition, his other hand slipped across to join the rest, covering Steve's and tangling their fingers together. "Steve?"

"Yes?"

"I liked it because it was you. _Because_ it was you. And," he tilted his head to meet Steve's eyes, "for the first time I wondered what it would be like to kiss someone. To kiss you." He took a deep breath. "Because I love you, too." Steve's sudden joy was palpable, warm and bright, and Bucky felt it pour through him. "But I didn't know I could feel that. I thought, being the way I am, I didn't think I could love someone. I thought it was like sex, something I couldn't feel. But turns out I can. I look at you and I love you, and I don't know what to do."

Steve's hands tightened around his, comforting and strong. "What do you want to do?"

Bucky laughed helplessly. "I have no idea."

"That's okay. There's time."

"Except I'm going to lose my job in the morning and then what happens?"

"What happens is we'll come back here and we'll figure it out, however long that takes."

"We?"

"I'm not letting you face that alone."

"Thank you." Overwhelmed— _Steve loves me, I just told Steve I love him, I don't know what happens now_ —Bucky put his head down on the arm of the chair. Steve slipped one hand free to gently run his fingers through Bucky's hair. It was slow and soothing and Bucky felt himself unwinding, his shoulders drooping, his eyes slipping shut.

"How about we sleep on it. You said yourself, you're exhausted. You take the bed, I'll take the floor. Things will be clearer in the morning."

Bucky opened his eyes, glanced around the van that he'd come to know as well as he'd known the home he'd grown up in, and shook his head. "No. You can't sleep on the floor. We can share the bed."

"Are you sure?" Steve's fingers paused, so his hand was resting on Bucky's head.

"I'm sure." It was strange to be so sure, but this was Steve.

It was incredibly strange to be lying in a bed with someone else. Strange, but not awkward. Not uncomfortable. Steve was being careful to stay on his side, to not touch Bucky—not easy, given the size of him and the size of the bed. Bucky examined what he was feeling, picking it apart, trying to figure it out, and discovered he didn't want that. "Steve?"

"Yes, Bucky?" He sounded almost nervous and that settled Bucky even more.

"Could you hold still for a sec?" When Steve complied, he moved so his back was lightly pressed against Steve's. Steve tensed and he hurriedly said, "I can move."

"No." Steve relaxed. "No, it's good. I thought..."

"I know. But I feel better when we're touching."

"So do I." Steve's hand found his and Bucky threaded their fingers together. "You can always touch me, whenever you want, however you want."

He fell asleep with the feel of Steve breathing against his back, the knowledge that Steve loved him, that he loved Steve, that maybe he could have this, flowing through him like water, overwhelming and baffling and beyond his comprehension.

 

* * *

 

Steve didn't sleep. His heart was torn between swelling up with joy, because _Bucky loved him_ , and shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. Not because he was afraid of what Bucky would choose, of what Bucky would decide. No, it was because Bucky's words were echoing in his head, repeating over and over: _I don't get to have that._ They hurt. If Bucky hadn't said them Steve might have kept quiet forever, retreated back into what they'd had before the festival, leaving any step towards more entirely in Bucky's hands. But not after that. He couldn't stay silent after that.

Because Bucky _did_ get to have this. Bucky got to have whatever of Steve he wanted.

"You love me." It was a bare whisper in the darkness, but the words felt like they should rock the van, like they should shake the foundations of the world, draw the gods down from the sky. Bucky loved him. Steve knew that might not be enough to get them there. Bucky had been bewildered and so vulnerable, not at all surprising if he'd spent his whole life thinking he couldn't fall in love.

The one thing Steve hadn't seen was fear. It gave him hope. It was new and unexpected and maybe Bucky didn't know what to do with it, but he wasn't afraid of what he was feeling. No, he was curled up, soft and pliant, against Steve's back, all soft breaths and quiet murmurs. That was about as far from fear as you could get and Steve didn't have words for what that stirred in him.

Carefully he turned over, just enough so he could brush his fingers over Bucky's cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear. Bucky turned into his touch with a murmur, eyelids fluttering, lips parting slightly. Steve pulled his hand away. "I love you. Whatever you need, however long you need, even if you need forever." He turned away, pressing his back against Bucky's again, and Bucky sighed and leaned into him.

 

* * *

 

Bucky woke to darkness and he could feel Steve's back against his, broad and strong and real. Everything was very clear. "Are you awake?" he whispered.

"Haven't been to sleep yet."

Bucky rolled over, his heart thumping against the inside of his ribs. "I know what I want to do about it."

Steve rolled onto his side, facing Bucky. "Tell me?"

Bucky knew he could say _no, I don't want to, I've changed my mind,_ and Steve would let it be. It was what gave him the courage to say, "The first thing I want to do is kiss you."

"I'm surprisingly all right with that."

He could hear the smile in Steve's voice and he reached for Steve's hand. It was warm and gentle as it folded around his. Bucky's heart slowed, settled, because he wanted to kiss Steve, maybe more than he'd ever wanted anything else in his life. Almost more than what he was about to say. He just wished he had better words. "And if that goes okay, can we...be together? Is that, can we do that? Because I love you. I want to be with you."

"I love you, Bucky. Being with you is kind of the thing I want most in the world, even if you decide you don't want to kiss me."

Steve was half a shadow above him and Bucky could just see the outline of his face. He lifted one hand and pressed the very tips of his fingers to Steve's cheek, felt Steve go still under his touch. "Good or bad?"

"Good, Bucky. Anytime you touch me, it's good."

Reassured, he brushed his fingers along Steve's jaw. Steve's eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the touch. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" Bucky asked as he traced Steve's brow, the long line of his nose, the curve of his cheek. He hesitated, then gently brushed his thumb over Steve's bottom lip.

"No one's ever called me that before."

"They should have. I've never seen anyone, anything, that makes me feel the way I do when I look at you."

"We're on the same page, there."

Steve wasn't reaching out for him, seemed content to let Bucky move at his own pace, and love flowed through him, slow and soft. It was the most natural thing in the world to push up on his elbow and touch his lips to Steve's, to finally kiss him, fingers curling into Steve's hair. Steve's mouth was gentle against his, but it was awkward, their noses bumped, and Bucky couldn't help the tiny, disappointed noise. Steve cupped his cheek, gently nudging him to a different angle, and it was better. It was magic. He was floating and warm, Steve's hair was soft between his fingers, his shoulder firm and strong under his hand, and he sighed as Steve lifted his head.

"Okay?"

He took a minute to focus on what Steve was asking, because it was better than okay, it was beyond good. It was Steve, he'd kissed Steve, and he was simmering with happiness. "I never wanted to kiss anyone before. Never met anyone and looked at them and thought _you,_ _I want to kiss you._ But Steve, I look at you, and I love you, and suddenly it's _right there_. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you again."

"You can kiss me whenever you want. But Bucky." Steve sat up and Bucky wanted to grab hold of him and pull him back, he missed the feel of him so much, his absence like the sudden shock of being shoved under cold water. "You don't have to. You know that right? No matter what we end up being, you don't have to do anything."

"Pretty sure I have to breathe. And drink. And take a piss from time to time."

"Smart ass." Steve poked him in the leg with his toes. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Bucky..."

He sat up and crossed his legs, facing Steve. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."  

"No, Steve. Are you really sure? Because you have to understand, it's not going to change. It's never going to change. Kissing you, that was... It was amazing. But for me there was nothing happening down there. It's never going to. Who I am, how I feel, it's not going to change. Sex, it's never going to be part of, of..."

"Of us?" Bucky nodded. "Want to know the exact moment I knew I loved you?"

"Maybe?"

"You do, trust me." Steve put his hands, palms up, on Bucky's knees and waited until Bucky slid his hands into them. "It was when you told me you'd never told anyone about you before." He wrapped his hands around Bucky's and Bucky held on tight, feeling as if he didn't he'd get swept away. "I can't tell you when I fell in love with you, because I think it was happening all along, but when I knew for sure? It was _after_ you told me how you felt. I always knew if I was ever lucky enough to have you love me back that sex wasn't going to be part of us. Because it's not part of you." He paused. "And there's something you haven't factored in."

"What's that?"

Solemnly, as if about to reveal the secrets of the gods above, Steve said, "I have a very talented hand. It's been looking after me for years now. It knows just what I like and how I like it."

Bucky stared, taken aback, then started laughing. Steve grinned. "So it's me and you...and your hand?"

"Exactly. You asked if we can be together and my answer to that is yes. Absolutely yes, always yes. Yes, Bucky. Yes."

His heart wanted to take flight. "Together, then?"

"Together. You and me." Steve pulled his hands free and nudged him. "Now lie down and turn around, so your back's to me. I want to show you something you're going to like."

He did as he was told, not questioning, because he trusted Steve completely. Steve put an arm around his waist and pulled him into the curve of his body, so there wasn't an inch of room between them. He was surrounded by Steve. "This is the best thing I've ever felt."

Steve nuzzled his nose through Bucky's hair, pressed a kiss behind his ear. "I know. And we can have this every night if you want."

Bucky's mind blanked, because he hadn't carried _be together_ through that far. Sleeping with Steve. Every night.

"But we don't have to," Steve murmured in his ear.

"No." He wrapped his arms around Steve's arm, holding on. "No, this is good. I want this."

Steve didn't answer, just held him a little closer, and Bucky relaxed into him. Tomorrow was going to be... He didn't even want to think about it. But he had Steve. He didn't yet know how to fit the shape of that thought into his life, but it was there, bright and glowing and beautiful. Much like the man himself.

With a quiet, contended huff, Bucky fell asleep, Steve's breath ruffling his hair.

 

* * *

 

Hammering against the door woke him. Steve was already up, sitting on the bed, fully dressed, looking every inch the Warden. Bucky had one moment of glorious wonder, pressed his hands against Steve's back, Steve turned to smile down at him and it was perfect, then the hammering came again. The reality of what was about to happen crashed over him.

"Trust me?" Steve asked.

"Always."

"Take off your shirt." Bucky pulled it off and handed it to Steve, who tossed it on the floor. "This is going to be awful. But this way neither of us has to lie."

"Steve, it was always going to be awful."

"Open the fucking door, Rogers. I know you've got him in there," Brock bellowed from outside.

"Ready?" Steve asked.

"As I'm going to be."

"Stay here, covers up to your waist." Steve pressed the tips of his fingers against Bucky's cheek, the lightest touch, but it settled him.

"Be careful."

"It's not me who needs to worry." Steve strapped on his long knife and his eyes were hard as went to open the door. Bucky propped himself up on an elbow and craned his neck. He could _just_ see Brock. Unless Steve moved the reverse wouldn't be true. Brock tried to push past, but Steve was immovable. "Something I can do for you, Rumlow?"

"I'm here for Barnes." It was practically a growl. "We're hunting this morning and he's late. I know he's here. I know you broke him out."

"He's here. But I don't know that he's going to be much good to you on a hunt." Steve took one step sideways and even though Bucky desperately wanted to cover himself, he didn't. He stayed right where he was, half-naked in Steve's bed, knowing exactly what conclusion Brock would draw.

There was a long, heavy silence. Then Brock said, "I'm gonna kill you." It was matter of fact, conversational, Brock's glare burning into Bucky. Bucky believed him. And maybe he would have been worried, except he knew there was an unsheathed blade standing between him and Brock.

"Touch him and you'll die slower that you thought possible." It was so cold the air suddenly felt warm in comparison. Brock shifted his gaze to Steve and fell back a step. Steve's spine was a line of steel. "Look at him wrong and you'll die slower than you thought possible. You don't want to test me on this, Rumlow. Not on this. Not for him."

Brock stepped back, then hauled off and punched the side of the van. "You little bastard. I looked after you and this is how you pay me back? You couldn’t have waited one more day to give it up to your fucking Warden."

Bucky wrapped the blanket around his waist, careful that only his bare feet were visible, letting Brock make assumptions about what was under it. He stood next to Steve and Steve wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into his side, eyes never leaving Brock.

For a long moment Bucky and Brock stared at each other, neither speaking, Brock's glare as loud as words, until Bucky broke the silence.

"You looked after me? You locked me up at night, you wouldn't let me go anywhere without an escort, because of something that _wasn't my fault_. You wouldn't listen when I told you I wouldn’t go on this hunt. You locked me up so you could _drag_ me on this hunt. _I don't need your cooperation_. Remember? Nothing you did was for me. Sometimes it worked out for me," he looked down, weighing it up, then lifted his head, "and whatever your reasons, I'm grateful you sent me to Steve that day."

Next to him Steve stirred, but he didn't speak.

"So yeah, sometimes it worked out for me, but sometimes it didn't, and I don't believe you gave a damn which way it was gonna go. Everything you did you did for Hydra, so don't pretend you were looking after _me_." Bucky took half a step forward, fists clenching around the blanket. "And the only reason I decided to _give it up to my fucking Warden_ was so you couldn't make me to go through with this hunt. It wasn't like you left me another choice."

Momentary shock painted Brock's face, but it quickly disappeared behind anger. Behind disdain. Behind contempt. "You..." His eyes darted between Bucky and Steve and he visibly exerted self-control. "Don't bother coming back to camp. I'll have someone pack your shit. You're not getting paid."

It would be a little less than the month he was supposed to give up, but Brock could go whistle for the rest. "Fine, but if anything's missing I'm going to the Guard."

Brock turned on his heel and stormed towards the tree line.

There was one last thing and he couldn't let it go. "Brock." When he turned, Bucky said, "It wasn't Steve who broke me out." He ducked back inside and grabbed the charm, flipped it through the air to Brock, who caught it. "I've been getting out since a few weeks after you started locking me in."

Brock turned the charm over and over in his hand. Bucky didn't recognise the expression on his face, but it went blank as he closed his fist around the charm, crushing it to pieces, and he walked away without a word.

Steve didn't move, didn't let down his guard, until Brock was out of sight, then he turned and Bucky found himself engulfed. Steve's arms were around him, he was curving his body, turning their slight height difference into a protective barrier. Bucky didn't hesitate to push into him. Steve's hands, broad and wide and strong, on his bare skin were an unfamiliar sensation, but it was good. They felt good. He drew in a deep breath that was nothing but Steve and rested his forehead against Steve's shoulder. "That wasn't fun."

"It really wasn't."

"But on the plus side I think he believes us."

"I think you're right." Steve leaned back a little and curled his fingers around Bucky's chin, urging him to look up. "I know we agreed that was going to be the plan but are you okay with that?"

"I think you said it best. Remember? The day I care what Rumlow thinks..." Steve's lips twitched and his thumb brushed Bucky's cheek. He wanted to lean into the touch and, like a shock, he remembered he could, it was okay, and he did, half-closing his eyes. Steve cupped his other cheek, fingers tucked around the curve of Bucky's jaw, and Bucky lifted his hands and pressed them against Steve's chest – not to push him away, to feel the strength of him, to feel his heartbeat—and said, "Kiss me?"

"Yes. Always. Bucky." Steve seemed to run out of words, and Bucky was smiling when Steve tilted his head and kissed him. It was as good as it had been last night and all he felt was happy, all this felt was right, as Steve's mouth moved on his, as he stepped closer, slipped his arms around Steve's neck, and let himself go. Steve was stroking his back, long slow movements down his spine, and he felt soft and languid as everything that wasn't Steve faded.

"Still okay?" Steve was holding him close, tucked against his body, and Bucky gave a deep, contented sigh.

"I told you I loved you, right?"

"Yeah, Bucky, you did. I love you, too."

"Good."

Steve laughed softly and ran a hand through Bucky's hair, ruffling it. "You're a mess, you know."

"Whose fault is that?"

"I don't know. Whose hair is it?"

"Ass." Steve tilted his head in acknowledgement and Bucky leaned up and kissed him. Bucky _leaned up and kissed him_ and it sent a shiver down his spine, that he could do that, that he wanted to do that. "You make tea. I'll deal with my hair. The morning's not over yet. We still have to deal with whoever shows up with my gear."

"Or decide what to do if they don't."

"Let's not borrow trouble 'til it happens." Steve gave him a look. "I know, it's you, you were born to borrow trouble. But at least wait until after we've had tea."

 

* * *

 

Borrowing trouble turned out to be unnecessary.

They were sitting on the grass, leaning against the old log as they'd done so many time before. Except Bucky was sitting between Steve's legs, Steve's arm looped around his waist, and they kept pausing between sips of tea and bites of bannock to exchange gentle kisses, light kisses, soft lingering kisses, kisses that said _really?_ and _yes_ and _I'm here_ and _we're here_ and _together_.

Steve freed himself from Bucky when the ute pulled up, placing himself between it and Bucky. Bucky followed, standing at his left hand.

When Wanda climbed out of the ute Bucky carefully didn't show his surprise. Or his lingering anger, or sense of betrayal. The latter was as much his fault as hers; there was nothing between them for her to betray, but it felt like she'd done it anyway. Without her, Brock wouldn’t have been able to lock him up last night.

He _wasn't_ surprised when Pietro climbed out after her.

Steve glanced at him and Bucky knew he was saying: _Your call._ _I'll follow your lead_. Bucky shifted closer, pressing their shoulders together. "Wanda," he said, neutral, calm.

She eyed them. "I see Brock wasn't lying." Pietro whispered something in her ear; she frowned at him and he shrugged.

Bucky didn't reply.

"There's something you should know," Wanda said. "If you don't already. I knew you were getting through my mage-lock."

" _What_?" But he remembered the look she'd given him, remembered his suspicion that she'd _known_.

"It's my magic. How terrible a mage would I be if I didn't know when someone had charmed it?"

Bucky stared at her. She stared back. "Last night. You knew I'd be able to get out." She nodded. All at once, he felt better. Lighter. Brock had told her to put a mage-lock on his van and she'd done it, but she'd known he could get through it and she'd said nothing. She'd given him his escape route. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Steve asked. "When he was getting out before, I mean."

"Because all Brock cares about is Hydra, but for us this is just a job. I saw where Bucky was going and he wasn't hurting anyone, including himself."

"And because she's a romantic," Pietro added. "That's when I started the betting pool. Personally, I didn't think you'd hold out this long," he told Bucky.

"I assume that's a compliment?" Steve asked dryly.

Pietro lifted one hand, palm up, and shrugged. "Ignore him," Wanda said and Pietro sighed and started pulling bags out of the ute, setting them with surprising gentleness on the ground. "When Brock returned and explained we wouldn't be hunting unicorns today, he was quite," she paused, then went on delicately, "forthright—"

"Forthright." Pietro snorted. "She means he called both of you a number of names I won't repeat in front of my sister."

"As I said, _forthright_ in explaining why you, Bucky, would not be returning. I offered to gather your things, since I didn't think anyone else would make sure they got to you in one piece."

"Thank you," Bucky said again. "Why did you—"

She didn't let him finish. "Because we're getting out, too."

"What Brock wanted to do was wrong," Pietro said. "It's one thing to hunt unicorns. It's another thing to slaughter them. What Brock wanted was a slaughter." They were silent for a minute, then Pietro broke into a grin. "It doesn't matter anyway, because about an hour after he came back from here, we got the pleasure of seeing Rollins come in from scouting to tell him the unicorns were gone. It was all I could do not to trot out the old _the unicorns move at the will of the gods_ bit. "

"He probably would have stabbed you," Wanda told him, frowning in disapproval.

"Might have been worth it."

She sighed at him, but he grinned back, unrepentant, and she turned to Bucky. "We'd better go. I want to be on the train out of here tonight."

"The bridge is flooded," Steve said, brow furrowed in concern. "It's not safe to try and cross it. You drive into water like that, you're going to get washed away."

Wanda gave him a strange look, then snapped her fingers and brilliant red light flared around her hand. "Trust me, that's not a problem for us."


	17. Chapter 17

Steve wasn't sure exactly how to count it. Three days since Rumlow had hammered on the door of his van, but did that count as the day Bucky had said, _Can we be together?_ or should that be the day before? Steve wasn't sure of the exact time it had happened, only that it had been incredibly late. Maybe so late it was actually early.

Call it three days, then. Three days of being Bucky's, of Bucky being his, of being together.  Of spending just about every moment in constant contact, with nothing to do but be together. The river still hadn't gone down enough to make crossing the bridge safe, but Steve gave it another day or two and they'd be able to get into town. He wasn't worried about Louth. The Temple had its own protections, so Sam would be fine, and Louth had good, solid mages who would have gotten barriers up against any floodwater.

All Steve had to do was get down there and he could send a message to Hill, letting her know he was ready to leave the Wardens.

Except he still hadn't had that conversation with Bucky. Bucky, who was curled up in his lap, his nose in the hollow behind Steve's ear, his hands brushing over Steve's back while he pressed kisses along Steve's jaw. Bucky, who couldn't seem to get enough of touching, of kissing, of lying close, body to body, always trusting himself to Steve. Bucky, who didn't get hard, didn't spin out into passion or lust, but still went fuzzy around the edges under Steve's hands.

He'd been sitting on the bed, reading to Bucky, Bucky stretched out beside him, head resting on his thigh, but somewhere along the line Steve had put the book down and focused on Bucky, running his fingers through Bucky's hair, stroking his neck, his arms. Leaning down to kiss his temple, his forehead, wherever he could reach. Reminding himself this was real.

Every day, every minute, it still felt like he was going to wake up and all of it, all of Bucky, would have been a dream. Except Bucky would reach for him, and he'd know it wasn't. It was real. Bucky was here. They were together. And they needed to talk about what happened next.

Steve ran a hand down Bucky's spine, nosed his temple. "Hey."

"Mmmm?"

"There's something I need to tell you."

Bucky tilted his head to look up at him and his smile was beautiful, and warm, and Steve couldn't help kissing him, light and soft, couldn't help giving himself over to it for a minute, or two, or three, cupping Bucky's cheek and nibbling his bottom lip, turning it into tiny kisses that left Bucky laughing softly at him and Steve a million miles from remembering much of anything.

"What is it?"

"What?" Steve asked.

Bucky grinned. "Something you need to tell me?"

"Right." He gently disengaged himself from Bucky, because he wanted to be clearheaded, he wanted Bucky to be clearheaded, and thought about easing into it. Then he simply said, "I'm leaving the Wardens."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

"Too complicated for you?" Bucky teased, settling comfortably next to him, taking his hand and sliding his fingers through Steve's.

Steve poked him with his other hand. "No, but I thought it would be obvious. Because we need to decide where we're going to go." He stopped, because maybe he was making assumptions. "If you want to leave. Do you want to leave?"

"Yeah, Steve. I can't imagine staying."

"Okay. Then yeah, we should think about where we go from here." Steve kissed Bucky's temple and waited to see if Bucky would say anything about his family. He knew they had to be on his mind, but he also knew there was a precariousness there, knew Bucky wasn't sure how his mother was going to feel about what he'd been doing. Bucky couldn't avoid thinking about it forever, but Steve wasn't going to jump in and shove him in that direction if he wasn't ready.

"I hadn't," Bucky glanced up at Steve and away, "thought that far yet. But it sounds like you have, if you've decided to leave the Wardens. What grand plans do you have for us?"

"I don't have plans, exactly. More a few options we could start considering. I was thinking we could talk to Sam. I know Louth's not the only place the small Temples have problems. There might be room for a freelance team to look after the towns the main Temples can't be bothered with. If that's something you'd be interested in."

"I'm not...sure how I feel about that."

Steve lifted his hand, kissed along his knuckles. "I've got other ideas. Teaching, for one. There must be people who'd want to learn what we know."

"What you know."

"What _we_ know. You've learned a lot from me, you know tracking and how to live out here. We'd be good together. Or we could hire out as protection for people heading into the wilderness. Because of you, I'm betting we'd be the only ones who could offer a way to deal with unicorns, besides run away as fast as you can or wait for them to leave."

Bucky sat up straighter. "I like the last one." 

"It's not bad, is it?"

"No, it's good." He could see Bucky working through the possibilities. "But."

"But?"

"Steve. Are you sure about this?"

"About what?"

"About leaving the Wardens."

"Are _you_ having doubts?"

"About us? No. Never." Bucky's absolute certainty shivered through him. "But this is huge. We're talking about you giving up your job, giving up your life."

"Bucky, I have more money saved than I know what to do with. We could go a year without working, more if we're careful. I became a Warden because it was the least bad option. I was lucky enough that it turned out to be more than that. A Warden was never going to be my life, but it did lead me to the thing that is." Steve freed his hand to place one finger against Bucky's sternum.

"Now you're calling me a thing?" Bucky asked, but his eyes filled with warmth, with love, and he lifted Steve's finger and kissed it.

"What if am?"

Bucky shook his head. "I just want to make sure. You're already giving up so much for me, I don't want you to—"

"Hang on. What am I giving up for you?" Bucky raised both eyebrows. Steve frowned. "I'm going to need you spell it out for me. What am I giving up for you?"

"Sex, you're giving up sex."

"You make it sound like it's some sacrifice I'm making."

"Isn't it?"

"No." Bucky made a tiny noise of protest. "I guess I can't stop you from feeling that way, like I'm giving something up, but that's not how I feel." Steve settled his hand on Bucky's chest, palm over his heart. "I have you, I love you, and that's not part of who you are. I'm not giving anything up; I'm getting _you_."

"Except you aren't like me. You like sex, it's part of who you are."

"I do, it is, and I've got my trusty hand for that."

"Even I know that's not the same." 

"No, it's not, but." Steve stopped, not sure whether to say what he was thinking, because it wasn't something he'd ever given voice to. "Do you know what I liked best about sex with someone else?" Bucky glanced away, but Steve drew him back with a gentle hand on his chin. "Being with them. Touching them. Them trusting me, handing themselves over to me, knowing I'd keep them safe. Sound familiar?"

Slowly, Bucky nodded. Steve smiled softly.

"You trust me to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you, to put my hands on your bare skin and never cross the line," he murmured, resting his forehead against Bucky's. "So tell me again how I'm giving something up." Bucky let out a long slow breath as he wrapped his arms around Steve, and Steve held him close. "You okay?"

It took Bucky a minute to answer. "Yeah," he finally said. "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I," Steve admitted, the tips of his ears going pink. "But I thought you needed to hear it."

Bucky kissed Steve's chest, his jaw, then leaned up to press a kiss to his mouth. "I did. And I do." Steve tilted his head in question. "Trust you to keep me safe."

It sent a rush through him and he pressed his face into Bucky's hair, breathing in deep. "I know." 

 

* * *

 

Five days after Brock had banged on Steve's door the river subsided and the bridge was once more safe to cross, its strong stone unaffected by the water.

Steve checked the bike over, Bucky secured the camp, and they left for Louth to send the message to Warden Hill. Bucky enjoyed the trip more than he'd ever enjoyed a trip with Steve, wrapping himself around Steve and pressing up close to his back. Steve grinned and gave him a quick kiss before they headed off, carefully taking the most inconvenient of the spider web trails through the preserve.

Neither of them wanted to run into anyone from Hydra.

Louth was still damp, a few buildings had suffered water damage, the trains had been delayed by water over the tracks, but overall the town was unharmed by the rains.

They made their way to the Messenger's Guild, walking hand in hand, brushing shoulders and elbows. Bucky had wondered if his eagerness to touch Steve would fade in public, under the eyes of strangers, but when Steve kissed him, light and quick, as he got off the bike, he forgot anyone else existed.

Steve pulled him to a stop in front of the Messenger's Guild, brow furrowing.

"Steve?"

Steve's fingers flexed in his. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you before," he said, looking vaguely guilty.

Bucky supposed that was the kind of thing that should concern him. It didn't. He had a rock-solid core of faith that Steve would never willingly hurt him. That anything Steve did, whether it turned out good, bad, or just plain stupid, would always, always be _for_ him. It made it hard to worry. "So tell me now."

"Okay. Remember when you came to me, when you were trying to decide what to do after your—"

A loudly cleared throat interrupted them. A large woman, steel grey hair pulled into a bun, carrying a woven basket half-filled with shopping, was glaring impatiently at them. Not unreasonably, Bucky decided, given they were completely blocking the sidewalk.

"Sorry, ma'am," Steve said. He drew Bucky out of the way and she swept past with a tiny, unimpressed _hmmph_. Steve kept moving, leading Bucky around to the back of the building where they'd have some privacy. "Okay, that's better."

"Is it?"

"Marginally. Remember when you came to me, when you were trying to decide what to do after your indenture?"

"I remember."

"I decided then that if you left, I was going to ask if I could go with you." Bucky stared at Steve, completely lost for words. Steve scuffed one toe along the ground. "I sent a message to Warden Hill, asking her what I needed to do to leave the Wardens. The message we're about to send her? It's not going to be a surprise."

He was dumbfounded. "I...don't know what to say."

Steve squeezed his hand. "You don't have to say anything, but you needed to know."

"Why?"

"Why did you need to know or why did I want to stay with you?"

Bucky groaned and let his forehead thump against Steve's shoulder. "Stop being clever. You know what I mean."

Steve's brushed his fingers through Bucky's hair. "I know. Because I loved you. Because I wanted to be with you, I wanted that to be my life."

Bucky stared at the weave of Steve's shirt for a bit, then rubbed his forehead back and forth over Steve's collarbone before tilting his head so he could see Steve's face. "Even if I didn't love you back?"

"Even then. What we had, it would have been enough." Bucky lifted his head and Steve smiled. "This is better. This is everything I ever wanted and better than I ever imagined, but if this had never happened? I would have been happy just being with you."

Bucky searched his face, but Steve's was as open and honest as a sunrise. The feeling welling up in him was too strong, too overwhelming, for words. All he could do was carefully, delicately, capture Steve's face between his hands and kiss him, lingering and sweet, trying to put into it everything he couldn’t say.

Steve wrapped one arm around Bucky, curved his other hand around the nape of his neck, and murmured, "I love you, too." 

They stood together, breathing together, being together, until Bucky stirred. "Are we sending this message to Warden Hill?"

"Let's do it."

 

* * *

 

Hill's response when it arrived was almost exactly what Steve had expected. She thanked him for his service, wished him well, and told him to leave the camp ready for the next Warden.

"As simple as that?"

"As simple as that. I told you, Bucky."

"Yeah, yeah. We can't all be as clever as you." But he was grinning and he leaned over Steve's back to press a kiss to the side of his neck, not caring that there were three other people in the Messenger's Guild office, not including the Messenger herself. None of them seemed to care, any interest the town might have had—and Steve had pointed out what Bucky had never noticed, that they'd long ago been cast as a set in the townsfolks' eyes—in the Unicorn Warden and the hunters' virgin finally getting together having grown stale.

All the reaction they garnered was some impatient foot tapping. "Because _some people_ ," the dapperly dressed young man behind them muttered under his breath. "Have messages to send."

Steve opened his mouth to say Bucky didn't even want to know what and Bucky dragged him out the door. Steve scowled but Bucky pointed a finger at him. "No."

"Whatever you say, Buck," Steve said, caught his finger, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed it. Then he kissed Bucky's knuckles, and his palm. Bucky stepped closer, wrapping a hand around Steve's wrist, not to stop him, just to hold on, when a too-familiar voice sounded from behind him.

"Having fun?" It was deep and rough and lilting with sarcasm and Steve went cold and still. Bucky didn't fight, didn't protest, as Steve turned him and pulled him in, so he was holding Bucky close against his body. Brock rolled his eyes. "Calm down, Warden. I'm not interested in hurting anyone."

"I'm not a Warden anymore," Steve warned. "All those rules I used to follow?" Bucky barely stopped himself from staring over his shoulder in disbelief. "They don't apply."

"I'm shakin' in my boots."

"Is there something you want? Or are you here to invite me and Steve for a drink," Bucky said, dry as dust. "Show us there's no hard feelings. Because that definitely sounds like something you'd do."

Much to Bucky's surprise, Brock actually looked amused. "Yeah, you tried to fuck us over. I mean, not like you fucked your Warden here," he added slyly. "Not that we couldn't all see that coming a mile off. Before that you were okay, and in the end you did it for nothing, so joke was on you. The unicorns were already gone. If they hadn't been," something dark moved through Brock's eyes, "this'd be a very different conversation, but I'm not the type to hold a grudge."

Steve's brief laughter shook his whole body. "Rumlow, you'd hold a grudge until it died, then you'd have it stuffed and mounted so you could gloat over outliving it."

"Now that's true enough, but hey, I'm complicated." He shoved his hands in his back pockets and gazed up at the sky. "Tell me," he said, in a tone that made it clear he didn't give a damn about the answer. "If I'd listened to you, if I'd treated them like Hydra's herds, would you still have fucked the Warden?"

Bucky thought about not answering. There was no point, it wouldn't change anything, just like there was no point rising to the bait of Brock's _fucked the Warden_. After a long silence, he finally said, "Maybe. Maybe if you'd treated it like a normal hunt I'd still be working for Hydra. But you made your choice and I made mine, so we'll never know."

"Fair enough." Brock dug into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. It was dirty, had obviously been folded and crumpled and not treated well. "Here." He held it out to Bucky. "Took a while to get to us."

Bucky took it, but he could feel Steve tense against him, ready to act if Brock so much as breathed wrong. "If I hadn't answered you, would you still have given it to me?"

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Brock's face. "Maybe, maybe not, but you made your choice and I made mine, so we'll never know, will we?" Without another word, Brock turned, sauntering off down the street.

"Hey," Bucky called after him. "Who won the bet?"

Brock grinned over his shoulder, smug and self-satisfied. "Guess."

"He really is an asshole," Steve muttered, slowly letting go of Bucky.

"He is, he really is, but," Bucky hesitated, not sure whether he believed what he was about to say, "he had his moments."

Steve made a noncommittal noise, like he didn't want to argue with Bucky but wasn't willing to concede the point, and Bucky didn't say anything. Instead he turned the letter over in his hands. There was a return address on the back. With a name. _Mrs Winifred Barnes._

"Your mother."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to open it?" Steve's hands covered his, long, strong fingers moulding themselves around Bucky's. "Or do you need another lesson in how letters work." He kissed the top of Bucky's head.

"I remember," he said, distracted, wondering how long ago she'd sent it.

"What are you worried about?"

"I don't even know."

"You should open it."

Steve was right. Staring at a closed envelope, worrying about what was inside, was the essence of stupid. Steve handed him a knife and he carefully slit the top before giving Steve his knife back.

His worry faded as he read. His mother had work, good work, with a merchant, selling fine rugs and tapestries. She'd always been able to talk the moon out of the sky, so Bucky had no doubt the merchant who'd hired her was pleased with his choice. Becca was happy at school, they were renting a little house, not big, but there was room for him if he wanted. They were doing so well. But it was the end that almost undid him.

_You gave us this, Bucky. And I love you. No matter what, I'll always love you and more importantly, I know you. So whatever's keeping you from writing, whatever's keeping you from visiting, remember: nothing will ever make me stop loving you. You're my son. That's forever. _

It was like a kick in the guts, he suddenly missed them so hard, everything he'd been doing such a good job not thinking about clamouring to be heard.

"Bucky?" Instead of answering he placed the letter in Steve's hand, turned, and pressed his nose into the hollow of Steve's throat, breathing him in. Steve's arm came around him and he rested his chin on Bucky's head as he read. "This is what you're going to do," he said when he'd finished.

"What?"

"Your family, Bucky. That's where you go first. Nothing else is as important as them. You gave them up to get them somewhere safe, to get them a new life. You did that. Now it's time to go back to them."

"But we have plans. Get the camp ready for the next Warden. Work out what we're going to do next."

"And that's still going to happen. I'm not saying we change anything. I'm saying you have time. I'm saying take the time to go and see them. Then come back to me and we'll figure out where we go from there."

He thought about it, picking his way through Steve's words, then planted both hands on Steve's chest and leaned back. "No."

"Bucky, I know how much you miss them. I can see it."

"No, I mean, you've got it wrong. It's we."

"What?"

"We finish here. Then we go there first. We go there together. I'm not leaving you, I'm not giving you up, not even for that long and," he felt a flash of uncertainty, but threw himself forward anyway _,_ "you should meet them."

"Yeah?" Steve's hopeful radiance flowed through Bucky like sunshine.

"Definitely."

"Then that's what we'll do."

"I love you."

"Good thing." Steve was grinning now. "Cause you know what?"

"No, what?" Bucky tried, and failed, to give Steve an unimpressed look. It couldn’t stand against Steve's infectious grin.

"I love you, too." Steve reeled him in, gently pulling him closer, and kissed him, the lightest brush, but it changed, deepened, and Bucky lost himself, came back with Steve's hand cradling his cheek.

"Remind me why I put up with you?" Bucky asked, but he turned his head to kiss Steve's palm.

"I don't know." There were a million answers in Steve's eyes and he curled his fingers around Bucky's jaw, dropped a tiny kiss on the corner of his mouth, smiling against Bucky's skin. "I think it was something to do with cookies."


	18. Epilogue

It was a small house, neat, tidy, with a little garden out front, the front door painted bright blue, and Bucky stopped in the road. Steve had to pull him out of the way of a snorting cart horse and its exasperated driver. "Bucky. Breathe."

"What if she's hates me because of what I was doing? What if she hates me because I never wrote her back? What if—"

"Bucky." Steve squeezed his hands. "She's not going to hate you. She loves you."

"But—"

Steve slid his hands up Bucky's arms to the back of his neck, gently pulled him close, and kissed his forehead. Bucky sighed and leaned into him. "It's going to be okay."

Bucky nodded. After a minute, maybe two, maybe five, he straightened, caught Steve's hand, and walked to the blue front door. Knocked. Waited. His mother answered and she looked the same. A few more grey hairs, maybe a few more laugh lines, but the same.

She glanced between him and Steve, perplexed, and Bucky had a flash of how he must look to her. How different he was from the Bucky who'd pressed the money into her hands and run before she could ask questions. His skin was tanned, his hair long, and he was carrying more muscle, even if it was nothing compared to Steve, big, broad, beautiful Steve, standing behind him, fingers curled above his hip.

Her eyes went wide. " _Bucky_?"

"Hi, Ma."

"Bucky!" He couldn't breathe, she was hugging him so tight, crying into his shoulder, and he wrapped her in his arms and held on. "Bucky."

She let him go eventually, but not entirely, clutching his shirt with one hand, like if she didn't he might disappear. "And who's this?"

"This is Steve. Steve Rogers. He's my—" He stopped, stumped, and looked over his shoulder. Steve started to smile, eyes sparkling amusement, and raised both eyebrows. Bucky huffed and his mother laughed.

"Never mind, I see who he is. Are you the one who brought him back to me?"

"No, he brought himself." Steve settled a hand on Bucky's shoulder, thumb brushing Bucky's neck. "I'm just lucky enough to be the one he brought with him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You traveled a long way to get here to the end, so thanks. If you want to know why unicorns migrate, you might enjoy this little bit of world-building that didn't show on the page (although there was a very brief nod to it), [over at my Dreamwidth](https://leveragehunters.dreamwidth.org/2459.html).


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